4 


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OK  CALIF.  1IBHAB77IOS 


THE  HEART  OF  DESIRE 


SECOND   EDITION 


By  ELIZABETH  DE JEANS 


THE 
WINNING  CHANCE 

AN  AMERICAN  NOVEL 
"Big   with  Vitality  and  Power" 

"  Mrs.   Dejeans  has  done   a   finer  bit  of 

psychology  than  the  author  has  done  in  'The 

Inner  Shrine. '    The  book  is  more  dramatic. ' ' 

— Los  Angeles  Times. 

Frontispiece  in  color  by  Gayle  P.  Hoskins. 
I2mo.      Ornamental  cloth,  $1.50. 


J.B.LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


M    MXX'S  HUM)  AI-PKAUKD  SHI.  I«>SK  SI.OWI.Y 


THE 

HEART  OF  DESIRE 


BY 

ELIZABETH  DEJEANS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  WINNING  CHANCE' 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   IN   COLOR   BT 

THE  KINNEYS 


PHILADELPHIA    &   LONDON 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910 
BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


Published  March,  1910 


Printed  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 
The  Washington  Square  Press,  Philadelphia,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAJTEJt                                                       BOOK    I.  ,A€], 

I  RESEMBLANCES 9 

II  FELLOW  TRAVELLERS  AND  AN  INCIDENT 15 

III  REFLECTIONS  OF  A  KNIGHT-ERRANT 29 

IV  THE  LOST  OPPORTUNITY 43 

V  A  DREAM  AND  A  MEMORY 70 

BOOK  II. 

I  A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW 79 

II  AFTER  MANY  DAYS 83 

III  A  PLEA 106 

IV  THE  HOUSE  OF  DECAY 124 

V  SCHEMES,  SCHEMES! 146 

VI  ABOVE  THE  ARROYO 160 

VTT  HISTORY  AND  A  REASON 185 

VIII  A  MONOLOGUE 204 

IX  A  FOGGY  NIGHT 214 

X  MRS.  SILENCE  MEDDLES 223 

XI  THE  USES  OF  ADVERSITY 232 

XII  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 266 

XIII  THE  WINDOW  OF  HOPE 280 

XIV  MAN  PROPOSES 295 

XV  THE  NIGHT  OF  RESOLVE 312 

XVI  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  RUINED  GARDEN 329 

XVII  TRIAL  BY  FIRE 338 

XVIII  ONLY  KATE  CAN  TELL  You 346 

XIX  IT  LAY  ix  A  LOOK  .                                               .  361 


2128951 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

As  THE  MAN'S  HEAD  APPEARED  SHE  ROSE  SLOWLY 

Frontispiece 

"  ANYTHING  BUT  THAT! "  HE  SAID 235 

PAQUITA  STOOD  HALF-CKOUCHED  AT  THE  BEDSIDE 313 


BOOK  I 


THE  HEART  OF  DESIRE 


i. 

RESEMBLANCES 

IT  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  Horton  Payne 
hung  up  his  damp  overcoat  and  disposed  of  his  um- 
brella. Even  the  stuffy  red  plush  seat  and  the  air 
of  the  smoky  over-heated  car  were  preferable  to  the 
clammily-cold  atmosphere  without.  He  had  walked 
a  block  in  the  half -frozen  slush,  and  he  lifted  first  one 
and  then  the  other  of  his  well-shod  feet,  inspecting 
their  damp  soles.  "Not  wet  through,"  was  his 
comment. 

The  December  twilight  had  fallen  earlier  than 
usual,  for  the  dark  clouds  of  foggy  smoke  had  hung 
low  over  the  city  all  day,  shutting  out  the  sickly,  dis- 
couraged sun,  and  wrapping  everything  in  a  pall  of 
gloom.  Horton  had  had  plenty  of  time  to  catch  his 
train,  but  he  had  hurried  to  be  out  of  the  damp  chill. 
The  fog  had  invaded  the  huge  station  and  mingled 
with  the  smoke  belched  from  a  dozen  clanging  engines. 
The  station  lights  gleamed  and  twinkled  dully  in  the 
murky  haze,  and  the  lanterns  of  the  brakemen  bobbed 
aimlessly  about  in  it.  Hurrying  groups  made  their 
way  u£  and  down  the  platform,  and  the  voice  of  the 

9 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

station-crier  bawled  the  destination  of  outgoing  trains. 
Horton  congratulated  himself  that  he  was  leaving  it 
all — the  murk,  and  the  dirt,  and  the  cold;  his  mind 
held  another  vision. 

The  car  was  filling  rapidly  with  men,  and  Horton 
gathered  as  he  listened  to  the  scraps  of  conversation 
about  him  that  most  of  his  travelling  companions  had 
mining  interests  and  were  bound  for  northern  points 
on  the  Pacific  Coast.  He  remembered  that  his  morn- 
ing paper  had  told  him  of  the  special  car  bound 
over  the  southern  route  with  a  generous  allowance  of 
stop-offs  in  California.  Most  of  the  men  about  him 
appeared  to  be  the  overflow  from  this  special  car,  and 
Horton  reflected  that  he  would  have  the  crowd  and 
chatter  throughout  his  entire  journey.  Damp  um- 
brellas were  strewn  about,  dress-suit  cases  littered  the 
aisle  and  the  seats,  and  one  or  two  of  the  louder  voiced 
were  characterizing  the  weather  in  no  gentle  terms. 
There  was  a  laughing  skirmish  for  seats,  and  lively 
comments  on  upper  and  lower  berths,  and  Horton 
turned  his  attention  from  the  commotion  around  him 
to  the  fog-soaked  platform. 

The  train  on  the  next  track  was  slowly  pulling  out, 
and  a  faint  vibration  in  his  own  announced  that  it 
was  about  to  follow.  ' '  All  aboard, ' '  roared  the  hoarse 
voice,  and  they  had  begun  to  move  when  suddenly  in 
the  gloom  under  his  window  appeared  two  running 
figures.  Horton  had  a  glimpse  of  the  gilt  in  the 

10 


Resemblances 

conductor's  cap  as  it  passed  beneath  him,  and  pres- 
ently, when  they  were  moving  more  rapidly,  well 
under  way,  he  entered  with  the  belated  passenger. 
She  was  a  young  girl,  very  quietly  dressed  in  black, 
a  heavy  black  veil  thrown  back  from  her  face.  As  she 
leaned  against  Horton's  seat  while  the  conductor 
ejected  an  overcoat  and  two  portmanteaus  from  the 
seat  opposite,  he  could  plainly  hear  her  gasping  breath 
and  see  the  trembling  of  her  whole  body.  She  looked 
white  and  exhausted  after  her  run,  and  the  light  over- 
head showed  a  line  of  moisture  on  her  lip  and  brow. 
She  stood  with  lowered  eyes,  and  Horton  Payne's 
artistic  sense  took  instant  note  of  the  almost  perfect 
oval  of  her  face,  the  beautiful  arch  and  curve  of  her 
well-marked  eyebrows,  and  the  dark  line  of  her 
long  lashes.  The  contour  of  her  face  reminded  him 
even  at  the  first  glance  of  features  he  had  seen  and 
admired  before,  but  he  failed  to  place  them. 

He  was  staring  at  her  intently,  half  puzzled,  half 
interested,  when  she  turned  her  head  and  looked 
down  directly  into  his  eyes,  a  look  weary  and  indiffer- 
ent, that  flashed  into  an  expression  startled  almost  to 
the  verge  of  terror,  merging  the  next  instant  into  a 
level  look  of  scorn.  She  straightened  herself  abruptly, 
and  taking  her  hand  from  his  seat,  turned  her  back 
on  him.  He  felt  a  rush  of  hot  blood  to  his  cheeks, 
for  his  interest  had  been  involuntary  and  beyond  his 
control,  and  by  no  means  an  intentional  rudeness.  He 

11 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

knew  the  moment  her  eyes  met  his,  that  whatever  the 
fancied  resemblance,  he  had  certainly  never  seen  her 
before. 

The  conductor  had  seated  her.  "Wait  here  a 
while,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  come  back  and  look  up  your 
berth  for  you — the  car's  crowded." 

"But  I  have  no  berth,"  she  returned,  in  a  low 
voice.  ' '  I  almost  missed  the  train  as  it  was — I  thought 
I  could  get  it  on  the  train. ' ' 

"No  berth  engaged!"  exclaimed  the  conductor. 
"Why  there's  not  a  lower  on  the  train,  and  precious 
few  uppers.  Haven 't  you  a  ticket  either  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have  that,"  she  said,  producing  it. 

The  man  examined  the  half  foot  of  green  ticket, 
and  grunted.  ' '  Los  Angeles ! "  he  remarked.  ' '  Well, 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you — maybe  some  man '11 
turn  out.  I  have  to  get  the  porter  and  straighten  the 
rest  out  first."  He  dropped  the  ticket  into  her  lap, 
and  she  watched  him  anxiously  as  he  made  his  way 
through  the  car. 

Horton  was  cautious  in  his  observation  now,  but 
he  was  well  aware  of  her  look  of  white  dejection,  and 
it  took  him  only  a  short  time  to  forgive  the  glance  she 
had  given  him.  He  acted  on  impulse,  and  rising,  fol- 
lowed the  conductor  into  the  vestibule ;  his  berth  was 
promptly  exchanged  for  an  upper,  by  chance  in  the 
section  the  girl  now  occupied,  and  Horton  betook  him- 
self to  the  smoking-car. 

12 


Resemblances 

A  half  hour  later  the  smoking-car  had  filled  with 
men,  and  when  he  returned  the  car  was  quiet.  The 
girl  occupied  his  former  seat,  her  small  bag  stowed 
away  beneath  it.  She  sat  with  her  head  laid  back, 
her  veil  lowered,  and  her  face  turned  to  the  blank 
window.  They  were  passing  along  the  river  now,  the 
scattered  lights  of  the  levee  flickering  faintly  beneath 
them,  but  the  dirty  yellow  of  the  wide  river  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  black  abyss.  Horton  drew  the  evening 
paper  from  his  overcoat  pocket,  and  tried  to  fix  his 
attention  upon  it,  but  he  did  not  lose  consciousness  of 
the  still  figure  across  the  aisle.  It  persisted  in  obtrud- 
ing itself  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  the  contrary.  Why 
had  he  felt  so  certain  he  had  seen  her  before?  Was 
she  going  across  the  continent  with  nothing  but  that 
little  bag?  The  gaudy,  yellow  leather  suit-case  that 
occupied  the  other  seat  of  her  section  he  knew  be- 
longed to  the  flashily  dressed  individual  who  had 
boarded  the  train  at  the  same  time  with  himself  and 
announced  his  claim  to  the  upper  berth.  .  .  .  Had 
she  been  called  to  some  sick-bed — a  father,  or  brother 
possibly — not  a  husband — she  looked  too  young? 
Perhaps  she  was  going  for  her  health — but  why  such 
haste  then,  and  no  one  to  see  her  off?  Perhaps — 
perhaps ?  Horton  threw  the  paper  down  in  dis- 
gust with  a  muttered  exclamation  at  his  own  ridicu- 
lous state  of  mind,  and  fell  to  wondering  when  he 
would  have  his  dinner.  He  was  hungry — should  he 

13 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

go  at  the  first  call,  or  wait  until  later?  It  would  per- 
haps be  better  to  wait — it  would  help  to  fill  up  a  long 
evening.  .  .  .  He  might  go  when  she  did ;  she  would 
have  to  raise  her  veil  in  the  dining-car  and, — he  rose 
with  haste  and  strode  off  to  the  smoker  again,  and 
there  he  determinedly  spent  the  evening,  going  back 
after  his  dinner  for  a  game  of  poker  with  three 
strangers.  He  was  a  good  hand  and  playing  in  luck, 
but  at  ten  o'clock  he  sought  his  berth.  Most  of  the 
sections  were  empty,  the  curtains  pulled  back,  but  the 
curtains  of  the  lower  opposite  were  tightly  drawn. 
Horton  Payne  thought  of  many  things  before  his  eyes 
finally  closed,  but  his  last  conscious  reflection  was, 
"I  don't  believe  she  had  any  dinner  at  all." 


II. 

FELLOW  TRAVELLERS  AND  AN  INCIDENT 

THEY  had  left  Kansas  City  behind  them  the  next 
morning,  and  were  well  out  on  the  level,  frost-bitten 
prairie,  when  Horton  asked  himself  what  he  was  going 
to  do  to  while  away  the  day.  He  had  breakfasted  as 
late  as  possible,  and  had  come  back  to  the  sleeping-car 
to  find  pillows,  card-tables,  and  novels  in  evidence. 
For  so  young  a  man  he  was  an  experienced  traveller, 
and  he  glanced  over  the  car  with  an  appraising  eye. 
The  men  he  had  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  the 
night  before,  and  he  had  been  interested  in  the  various 
types.  The  miner  whose  knotted  hands  and  weather- 
beaten  face  were  proof  of  years  of  toil  and  tardy  suc- 
cess, was  in  strong  contrast  to  the  sleek,  white-handed 
dealer  in  stocks.  The  born  prospector,  the  man  of 
wanderings,  the  dweller  in  lonely  places,  was  there 
also,  and  the  able  financier  of  vast  holdings.  There 
was  a  sprinkling  of  agents  of  large  firms,  mostly 
youngish,  wide-awake-looking  men,  with  a  New  York 
cut  of  garments,  and  a  smooth  facility  of  speech. 
There  was  also  the  hanger-on,  like  the  flashily-dressed 
man  of  the  upper  berth  opposite.  Horton  had  merely 
glanced  over,  but  he  had  seen  the  black-gowned  figure 
of  the  evening  before,  well  drawn  into  her  corner  by 

15 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

the  window,  and  lolling  opposite  to  her  the  occupant 
of  the  upper  berth. 

There  was  but  one  other  woman  in  the  car,  a 
highly  colored  and  luxuriant  looking  woman,  who 
gave  small  heed  to  the  very  pretty  little  child  that 
constantly  wandered  away  from  her  up  the  aisle. 
Horton  watched  with  somewhat  cynical  amusement  the 
capturing  of  the  baby  by  some  one  of  the  men,  and 
the  inevitable  return  to  the  woman  of  her  property, 
which  was  done  diffidently  or  boldly  according  to 
the  nature  of  the  man.  A  glance  from  her  large 
black  eyes,  and  a  brilliant  smile  that  showed  her  white 
teeth,  thanked  each  one  in  turn,  and  at  the  lunch  hour 
when  she  rose  and  led  her  child  out  there  was  not  a 
man  in  the  car  whose  eyes  did  not  follow  her  with 
some  degree  of  interest. 

As  she  passed  Horton  Payne  she  looked  full  at  him, 
a  look  certainly  devoid  of  shyness,  and  he  took  cool 
note  of  her  luxuriant  beauty.  She  had  a  foreign  air, 
and  Horton  set  her  down  as  Spanish — "Mexican  Span- 
ish," he  added  to  himself — it  was  not  a  type  he  ad- 
mired. His  gaze  followed  her,  however,  and  when  he 
turned  he  looked  directly  into  the  deep  gray  eyes  of 
the  girl  opposite.  They  held  for  a  fleeting  second  an 
expression  he  could  not  fathom,  and  then  she  looked 
through  him  with  a  consummate  skill  that  sent  a 
sudden  pulse  to  his  finger-tips,  a  warm  flush  of  anger. 
She  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  had  given  up  his 

16 


Fellow  Travellers  and  an  Incident 

berth  to  her — the  conductor  had  so  informed  her — 
he  had  been  mindful  of  her  manner  of  the  night  before 
and  had  not  even  glanced  in  her  direction,  and  she 
looked  through  and  beyond  him  as  if  he  were  a  dis- 
agreeable void.  He  had  been  perfectly  conscious  that 
she  had  sat  the  whole  morning  with  her  eyes  on  the 
uninteresting  brown  landscape,  and  he  had  even  for- 
borne to  study  her  profile.  He  told  himself  hotly  that 
she  need  not  take  such  pains  to  show  her  disapproval 
of  him,  the  last  thing  he  desired  was  to  obtrude 
himself. 

His  sense  of  injury  nerved  him  now  to  turn  and 
observe  her  deliberately.  Her  eyes  had  gone  back  to 
the  window  again,  and  Horton's  first  impression  was 
the  same  as  that  of  the  night  before — that  he  was  cer- 
tainly familiar  with  her  features.  Her  head  was  small 
and  exceedingly  well  set,  the  face  oval,  the  chin  softly 
rounded  and  deeply  indented  beneath  the  full  under 
lip.  The  mouth  was  not  large,  the  lips  warmly  red 
and  beautifully  curved,  the  nose  straight  and  well 
formed,  and  the  eyes  set  wide  apart.  Her  very  abun- 
dant dark  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle  and  gathered 
back  loosely  into  the  thick  coil  at  the  back  of  her  head. 
When  the  sun  touched  it  it  turned  a  warm  copper 
color,  but  in  the  shadow  it  looked  quite  black.  There 
was  a  something  unmodern  and  unusual  in  her  beauty, 
difficult  to  analyze,  unless  possibly  it  lay  in  the  shape 
of  the  head,  and  the  contour  of  her  face.  The  feat- 
2  17 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

ures  might  almost  be  those  of  some  beautiful  Italian 
peasant  girl,  Horton  decided,  but  the  impression  was 
striking  only  when  her  face  was  in  repose  and  the 
eyes  lowered;  under  the  cool  intelligence  of  her  look 
it  vanished.  Her  eyes  were  a  gray  without  hint  of 
blue,  very  heavily  lashed,  and  the  pupils  unusually 
large.  They  dominated  the  face,  giving  it  light  and 
color,  and  meaning — they  held  both  passion  and  in- 
telligence, warmth  and  shadow.  They  did  not  belong 
to  the  recollection  that  evaded  Horton,  and  he  bent 
his  brows  in  a  puzzled  search  through  his  memory. 
He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  man 
of  the  upper  berth,  who  swung  into  his  seat  opposite 
the  quiet  black  figure.  He  was  redolent  of  his  after- 
luncheon  cigar,  and  appeared  to  be  in  an  expansive 
mood.  "Golly,  it's  cold  out!"  he  observed  to  her 
profile.  "Conductor  says  we'll  be  in  for  a  snow- 
storm." He  eased  his  trowsers  at  the  knee,  and 
throwing  one  leg  over  the  other,  displayed  low  patent- 
leather  shoes  and  a  vista  of  scarlet  silk  sock.  His  hard 
black  eyes  rested  on  her  expectantly,  but  she  was 
apparently  as  deaf  as  a  statue.  Horton  had  an  im- 
pression that  these  were  not  the  first  remarks  the  man 
had  endeavored  to  make  to  her.  He  looked  the  typical 
masher,  and  something  of  a  bully  also,  and  Horton  un- 
consciously straightened  his  shoulders,  awaiting  the 
next  development.  The  man  observed  her  in  silence 
for  a  moment,  then  bending  forward  he  said  something 

18 


Fellow  Travellers  and  an  Incident 

in  so  low  a  tone  that  Horton  did  not  catch  it.  It 
brought  a  response,  however,  for  she  moved  deliber- 
ately and  Horton  could  see  her  full  face.  The  delicate 
color  had  left  her  cheek  and  her  eyes  looked  curiously 
light,  a  white  flame  of  scorn.  She  swept  the  man  with 
it  from  the  shiny  black  of  his  wavy  hair  to  the  gloss 
of  his  shoes,  and  rising  stepped  out  into  the  aisle. 
Horton  caught  an  edge  of  the  gray  glint  as  she  passed 
him,  and  he  watched  her,  fascinated,  as  she  slowly 
walked  down  the  car.  She  was  not  above  medium 
height,  but  the  slender  roundness  of  her  figure,  her 
erect  carriage,  and  the  set  of  her  head,  made  her 
appear  taller. 

Horton  avoided  looking  at  the  man  opposite — there 
are  times  when  a  look  is  as  good  as  a  blow  in  the  face. 
He  picked  up  his  neglected  magazine,  apparently 
burying  himself  in  it,  but  from  that  moment  his 
thoughts  had  sufficient  employment.  His  ennui,  and 
a  half-formulated  desire  for  intelligent  companion- 
ship on  his  long  journey,  faded  into  the  background. 
He  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  seeking  acquaintances 
in  his  travels,  but  they  had  often  come  to  him  unasked. 
He  had  always  regarded  himself  as  incapable  of  rude- 
ness to  a  woman,  and  that  gray  glint  of  scorn  cut  him 
like  a  knife.  It  set  him  in  the  same  category  as  that 
over-fed  animal  in  the  next  seat,  and  it  rankled  and 
hurt.  He  asked  himself  what  possible  difference  it 
made  to  him  what  an  over-sensitive  girl  thought — 

19 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

after  three  days'  time  he  would  never  see  her  again. 
But  the  fact  remained  that  he  did  care  intensely ;  that 
he  longed  to  stand  well  in  her  estimation.  From  the 
moment  he  had  first  seen  her  she  had  interested  him — 
he  could  not  deny  it — and  perhaps  her  quick  instinct 
had  told  her  so,  and  she  had  misjudged  him  accord- 
ingly. If  she  had  given  him  the  opportunity  he 
would  most  gladly  have  sought  her  society,  and  she 
probably  knew  it  quite  well.  Certainly  if  she  had 
been  subjected  to  much  of  the  sort  of  thing  he  had 
just  witnessed  she  might  well  look  with  suspicion  on 
every  approach  to  interest. 

The  man  opposite  had  departed,  and  some  time 
afterwards  the  girl  returned  to  her  seat.  Reaching 
up  she  detached  from  her  hat  the  long  veil  that  cov- 
ered it,  and  arranging  it  so  as  to  half  shade  her  face, 
she  laid  her  head  back  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  had 
turned  from  the  window,  and  as  Horton  rode  back- 
ward, he  faced  her.  She  sat,  her  shoulders  drooping 
a  little,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  her  lashes  a  dark 
line  on  her  white  cheek.  She  looked  ill,  almost  frail, 
and  the  hurt  feeling  that  he  had  been  nursing  for  the 
last  hour  melted  away.  She  was  travelling  alone, 
without  even  a  woman  whose  companionship  she  could 
seek — for  Horton  did  not  count  the  black-haired,  bril- 
liant-hued  woman  on  the  far  seat — and  she  did  right 
to  hold  herself  rigidly.  He  deserved  her  ill  opinion 
for  having  allowed  his  interest  and  admiration  to 

20 


Fellow  Travellers  and  an  Incident 

appear  even  for  a  moment.  Having  brought  himself 
to  a  sufficiently  chastened  state  of  mind,  he  laid  down 
his  magazine  and  turned  his  attention  to  the  dull 
landscape. 

They  were  passing  through  stretch  upon  stretch 
of  brown,  frozen  prairie,  and  the  sun  of  the  morning 
had  long  since  vanished  behind  banks  of  low-lying 
snow-clouds.  Miles  of  wire  fencing  and  an  occasional 
distant  ranch-house  with  its  collection  of  huge  hay- 
barns  showed  that  they  were  still  in  touch  with  civil- 
ization, but  the  night  would  carry  them  into  the 
desert.  Horton  Payne  was  wondering  what  changes 
a  decade  or  two  would  make  in  that  limitless  expanse, 
when  he  felt  a  light  touch  at  his  knee,  and  looked  down 
into  the  soft  little  face  of  the  baby  that  had  wandered 
up  to  his  seat.  She  looked  up  at  him,  smiling  as  if 
sure  of  her  welcome.  Horton  lifted  her  to  his  knee, 
and  her  lips  parted  in  a  wider  smile  that  revealed 
several  small  white  teeth.  Horton  reflected  that  it 
was  her  mother 's  smile  in  miniature,  and  he  wondered 
if  fifteen  or  twenty  years  would  give  her  as  brilliant 
a  plumage  as  the  woman's. 

She  promptly  rummaged  in  his  waistcoat  pockets 
and  brought  forth  his  watch,  and  for  some  time  leaned 
contentedly  against  his  breast  playing  with  it  and 
talking  to  herself,  an  entirely  unintelligible  jargon 
of  her  own.  Horton  could  not  remember  when  he  had 
held  a  child  in  his  arms,  certainly  not  for  a  long  time, 

21 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

and  with  the  capacity  for  emotion  that  was  part  of 
his  many-sided  character,  he  felt  a  soft  thrill  at  the 
touch  of  her  warm  little  body.  She  wearied  of  the 
watch  in  time,  and  her  dark  eyes,  quick  hut  sofj  in 
their  glance,  rested  on  the  quiet  figure  opposite.  She 
slipped  from  his  knee,  and  before  Horton  knew  what 
she  was  about,  had  crossed  the  aisle  and  with  her 
surprising  activity  had  climbed  upon  the  seat  beside 
the  sleeping  girl.  Horton  felt  sure  that  she  slept,  for 
her  hands  that  had  been  tightly  clasped  in  her  lap 
had  gradually  dropped  apart  and  lay  relaxed.  He 
would  not  have  ventured  to  approach  that  seat  for  any 
price,  and  he  watched  the  child,  half  amazed  and  half 
annoyed.  She  seated  herself  close  to  the  motionless 
figure,  and  reaching  up  laid  her  little  hand  on  the 
sleeping  girl's  lips.  Then  Horton  saw  a  picture  that 
awakened  his  slumbering  memory.  The  girl's  eyes 
opened  wide  and  she  looked  down  for  a  startled 
moment  into  the  child's  face,  then  raising  herself  a 
little  her  arm  went  round  the  baby,  holding  her  close 
to  her  cheek,  and  she  lifted  her  face  looking  full  at 
Horton,  her  eyes  wide  and  blank  still  with  sleep,  but 
with  a  soft  light  growing  in  them.  The  veil  had 
slipped  back  a  little  on  her  hair,  and  he  knew  instantly 
what  the  resemblance  was  that  had  so  persistently 
eluded  him.  It  lay  somewhat  in  contour  of  face  and 
arch  of  brow,  but  more  in  occasional  expression,  a 
look  brooding,  dreamy,  absorbed.  To  Horton,  who 

22 


Fellow  Travellers  and  an  Incident 

was  sensitive  to  impressions,  it  suggested  the  face  of 
Raphael's  masterpiece  in  the  Dresden  gallery.  The 
next  moment  he  could  have  smiled  at  himself,  for  the 
likeness  had  vanished  completely.  The  child  had 
flung  herself  with  a  gurgle  of  laughter  into  the  girl's 
lap,  and  kicking  up  her  belaced  skirts  and  tiny  pink- 
shod  feet,  begged  for  a  romp  with  a  zest  thoroughly 
impudent  and  modern,  and  the  girl's  amused  and  in- 
experienced efforts  to  keep  her  from  slipping  to  the 
floor  were  as  unmadonna-like  as  possible.  The  veil 
was  pulled  from  her  head,  and  a  strand  of  her  loosened 
hair  rested  on  her  softly  flushed  cheek.  Her  gray 
eyes  danced  with  laughter,  and  for  the  moment  every 
vestige  of  classic  repose  had  faded  from  her  face. 
She  looked  what  she  evidently  was,  a  very  young  girl, 
certainly  not  more  than  seventeen.  Horton  rose  and 
went  to  the  smoking-car  with  a  curious  sense  of  relief 
from  tension.  The  haunting  likeness  was  solved,  and 
it  was  proved  to  his  satisfaction  that  a  white-faced 
hauteur  was  not  the  habitual  expression  of  his  travel- 
ling companion. 

He  found  the  smoking-car  crowded.  The  porter 
was  lighting  the  lamps,  for  the  snow  had  begun  to  fall 
heavily,  and  it  was  twilight  at  four  o'clock.  He  was 
hailed  by  his  acquaintances  of  the  night  before,  urging 
him  to  a  game  of  poker,  but  he  shook  his  head  and  took 
a  seat  that  happened  to  be  opposite  the  man  of  the 
upper  berth  and  another  of  the  same  kidney.  One 

23 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

was  large,  sleek,  and  dark,  and  the  other  slim  and 
ferret-faced,  but  in  both  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
professional  gambler.  The  porter  had  not  reached 
them  in  his  lamp-lighting  round,  and  they  were  lean- 
ing on  their  table  talking.  The  train  was  slowing  up 
and  Horton  caught  some  of  their  remarks. 

"You  ain't  mistaken?"  asked  the  small  man. 

"Hell,  no!"  said  the  other,  biting  off  the  end  of 
his  cigar  and  spitting  it  out  on  the  floor.  "I'd  know 
her — "  Horton  lost  the  next  words,  and  heard 
only  the  end  of  the  sentence,  " — but  I'd  give  some- 
thing to  nail  him!" 

"Think  you'll  go  on  then?"  inquired  the  ferret- 
faced  man.  His  voice  was  not  so  thick  as  the  other's 
and  carried  better. 

"Damned  if  I  can  make  up  my  mind,"  said  the 

other.  "If  she'd  only "  Horton  Payne  lost  the 

rest. 

"You'd  better  stick  to  the  certainty,"  the  small 
man  rejoined,  sharply.  "He's  a  sight  too  slick  for 
you,  George." 

"But  the  stake's  bigger — "  the  man  called  George 
objected.  The  porter's  bulk  now  came  between  them, 
shutting  off  the  conversation  from  Horton,  and  when 
he  had  moved  on  the  men  gathered  up  their  cards  and 
rose,  but  Horton  caught  the  last  words  before  they 
parted— "She's  got  to — I'll  see  an'  let  you  know 
— s'long." 

24 


Fellow  Travellers  and  an  Incident 

The  man  was  making  for  the  sleeping-car,  and 
Horton  followed  on  his  heels,  for  he  felt  a  certainty 
that  the  brief  sentences  he  had  overheard  referred  in 
some  way  to  the  girl  in  the  next  car.  He  told  himself 
with  a  good  deal  of  emphasis  that  if  the  man  had  any 
intention  of  annoying  her  further,  he  might  find  him- 
self kicked  out  on  the  prairie,  and  he  took  his  seat 
with  tingling  fingers. 

The  baby  had  tired  of  her  play  and  gone  to  sleep  in 
the  girl's  arms.  She  sat  with  her  cheek  bent  to  the 
little  dark  head,  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  and  paid  no 
attention  to  the  approach  of  the  man.  Hitherto  he 
had  kept  to  his  own  seat,  but  now  he  placed  himself 
beside  her,  and  spoke  rapidly  and  low.  She  lifted  her 
eyes  for  a  moment,  staring  at  him  with  a  wide,  startled 
look,  then  gathering  the  child  in  one  arm  she  half  rose 
and  beckoned  to  someone  seated  behind  Horton.  He 
was  on  his  feet  now,  but  her  look  deliberately  passed 
over  him,  and  her  action  had  been  so  quick  that  the 
young  man  behind  him  reached  her  first.  Her  words 
were  clear  and  unhurried,  and  Horton  heard  them 
distinctly. 

"I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  sir,  but — might  I 

speak  to  you  a  moment ?"  The  man  beside  her 

had  risen  with  a  scarlet  face  and  uncertain  air,  and 
she  pointed  to  the  seat  he  had  vacated.  "Will  you 
sit  here,  please." 

The  boy  whom  she  had  called  to  her  aid — for  Hor- 

25 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

ton  saw  that  though  tall  and  broad-shouldered  he  was 
little  more  than  a  boy — took  the  offered  seat,  looking 
both  surprised  and  puzzled,  while  the  man  whom  she 
had  ejected  gave  one  furtive  look  round,  and  a  waver- 
ing glance  at  Horton's  face  of  white  fury,  and  made 
haste  out  of  the  car.  Horton  was  after  him  on  the 
instant,  and  caught  up  with  him  in  the  vestibule.  The 
next  moment  his  hand  was  on  the  man 's  collar,  and  he 
whirled  him  round  till  they  faced  each  other  in  the 
narrow  space,  the  man  scarlet  and  snarling,  and  Hor- 
ton dead  white. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  annoying  that  lady  in 
there?"  Horton  Payne  demanded,  through  set  teeth. 
"If  you  repeat  that  sort  of  thing,  I  warn  you  that  I 
shall  break  every  bone  in  your  body. ' ' 

The  man  glanced  over  Horton's  shoulder  and  took 
courage.  "None  of  your  damned  business,"  he  swag- 
gered, but  he  backed  a  step  or  two  as  he  spoke,  "she's 
none  of  your  property — I  '11  speak  to  any  one  I  please 

— you "  The  wave  of  fire  that  swept 

over  Horton  turned  things  a  distorted  red,  and  he 
never  knew  just  what  he  did  in  the  next  few  moments. 
When  he  realized  the  situation  the  conductor  and  por- 
ter had  pushed  by  him  and  were  raising  a  crumpled 
looking  figure  from  the  swaying  floor,  and  as  Horton 
stood,  still  white  to  the  lips,  he  was  given  a  view  of 
a  grotesquely  battered  looking  face,  the  eyes  fast 
swelling,  the  thick  nose  bleeding  profusely.  The 

26 


Fellow  Travellers  and  an  Incident 

figure  was  dragged  to  its  feet  and  stood  staggering. 

"My  lordy!"  gasped  the  porter.  "He's  mos' 
daid!" 

"Dead  nothin',"  growled  the  conductor,  who 
seemed  to  be  of  pugilistic  sympathies,  "his  looks  is 
spoiled,  that's  all.  .  .  .  See  here,  sir,"  he  added  to 
Horton,  "just  lend  us  a  hand,  will  you,  till  we  get 
him  in  the  dressing-room — you  don't  want  the  whole 
car  onto  this." 

Horton  helped  them  support  the  man  to  the  end  of 
the  vestibule  and  into  the  dressing-room,  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  closed  door  while  the  other  two 
applied  towels  and  cold  water.  The  treatment  ap- 
peared to  be  effective,  for  the  man  growled  out  that 
he  was  all  right. 

"Of  course  you  are,"  the  conductor  assented, 
cheerfully.  "A  pair  of  black  eyes,  that's  all!"  He 
stood  back,  looking  from  Horton  to  the  injured  man, 
his  bright  blue  eyes  twinkling.  "It's  just  a  little  pri- 
vate affair,  I  figure,  and  both  parties  now  satisfied?" 

"I  wasn't  looking  for  trouble,"  said  the  man, 
sullenly. 

"Perhaps  not,"  Horton  retorted,  with  emphasis, 
"but  I  was.  You  let  the  porter  get  your  bag  in 
there,  and  keep  yourself  anywhere  on  the  train  you 
like,  but  don 't  you  put  your  foot  in  that  car — I  don 't 
need  to  tell  you  why.  I  heard  your  talk  in  the  smoker 
this  afternoon,  and  you  would  better  'stick  to  the  cer- 

27 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

tainty'  as  your  friend  advised."  The  man  peered  at 
him  out  of  his  swollen  eyes  with  a  startled  air,  and 
Horton  looked  steadily  at  him  for  a  moment.  Then 
his  hand  found  his  pocket,  and  the  darkie  grinned  in 
delight,  but  the  conductor  looked  preternaturally 
solemn.  It  was  only  when  Horton  had  gone  that  he 
turned  his  back  for  a  moment  on  the  injured  man, 
and  slowly  closed  one  eye  at  the  porter. 


III. 

REFLECTIONS  OF  A  KNIGHT-ERRANT 

As  Horton  Payne  nursed  his  bruised  knuckles 
throughout  the  next  day,  he  ruefully  conceded  that 
the  role  of  knight-errant  was  essentially  a  thankless 
one,  and  that  it  was  given  to  babes  and  beardless 
youths  to  bask  in  the  smiles  that  in  all  justice  belonged 
to  himself.  Not  that  the  smiles  were  frequent  or  car- 
ried much  meaning,  however,  for  it  was  the  boy  who 
talked  and  smiled,  and  the  girl  that  listened,  some- 
times very  absently,  Horton  thought.  The  man  of 
the  upper  berth  had  vanished;  the  black-eyed  woman 
on  the  far  seat  had  found  a  congenial  companion  in 
the  gray-haired,  heavy-faced  man  who  breakfasted, 
lunched,  and  dined  with  her,  rarely  leaving  her  side; 
the  baby  made  occasional  excursions,  but  for  the  most 
part  was  satisfied  with  the  companionship  of  the  girl 
and  boy  opposite,  and  Horton  gave  his  attention  to 
their  conversation,  and  the  wind-swept  desert  without. 
They  had  left  the  snow-storm  behind  them  after  a 
delay  in  the  night,  and  were  crossing  a  corner  of  Colo- 
rado. Horton  knew  the  line  of  mountains  before 
them ;  they  would  reach  Albuquerque  some  time  in  the 
late  evening. 

."I  wish  I  were  going  on  to  Los  Angeles,"  the 
boy  said,  for  the  third  time  that  morning. 

29 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"But  you  say  the  Grand  Canyon  is  so  beautiful," 
she  answered,  in  her  soft  voice.  Horton  had  found 
a  new  charm  in  her  voice ;  it  was  low  and  yet  distinct, 
with  a  soft  slurring  of  the  hard  consonants.  It  was 
not  southern  exactly — Horton  could  not  place  it. 

"I  wouldn't  go  a  step  but  for  my  Aunt,"  he  de- 
clared. "It's  just  one  of  her  queer  notions,  and  I 
know  exactly  what  will  happen.  She'll  meet  me  to- 
morrow morning  and  calmly  announce  that  she  has 
changed  her  mind,  and  we  will  take  the  next  train  to 
Los  Angeles.  You  see  my  Aunt's  a  good  sort — she's 
pretty  good  to  me  sometimes — but  she  does  get  the 
craziest  ideas — like  travelling  up  the  Grand  Canyon 
in  December.  Ugh!  .  .  .  Still  I  didn't  mind  when 
she  wrote  about  it.  She  gave  me  this  trip  east  during 
my  holidays,  and  I'd  have  had  to  stay  out  of  school 
altogether  this  year  but  for  her,  so  I  was  ready  to  do 
anything  she  wanted  to,  but  I  wish  now  I  had  kicked. " 

"Where  did  you  say  she  lived?"  the  girl  asked. 

"Her  home  is  in  Los  Angeles,  but  she  always  goes 
somewhere  else  during  the  summers. ' ' 

"And  your  home  is  on  a  ranch?" 

"Yes,  near  Los  Angeles."  He  lifted  his  shoulders 
with  a  gesture  of  nervous  energy,  his  square  chin 
growing  more  prominent  as  he  spoke.  "I  just  hate 
that  ranch!  Do  you  know,  I  was  scarcely  ever  off 
it  till  I  went  to  college.  Oh,  of  course,  I  went  to 
school  at  Los  Angeles,  but  I  worked  like  a  Chinaman 

30 


Reflections  of  a  Knight-Errant 

all  summer  for  years  to  get  the  chance  to  go  to  school. 
Two  more  years  of  it  at  law,  and  then  the  city  for 
me!"  His  eyes  flashed.  "You  know,  when  I  see  the 
chances  a  fellow  has  in  that  country — the  way  it's 
growing !  Why  take  Los  Angeles,  it  will  be  a  wonder. 
In  ten  years,  in  1903,  it  will  be  more  than  twice  its 
size,  and  the  chances  for  a  fellow  who  has  a  good  head 
and  a  few  dollars!  It  makes  one  ache — the  time  it 
takes  to  get  an  education,  and  get  started. ' ' 

"Why  don't  you  start  at  the  money  making  with- 
out the  education?"  she  asked.  Her  eyes  rested  on 
him  tentatively,  and  a  pleased  light  grew  in  them 
at  his  positive  answer. 

"I  don't  want  just  the  money,"  he  said.  "I  want 
what  brains  will  bring,  too, — educated  brains,"  then 
he  flushed  scarlet,  fearful  of  possible  ridicule,  but  her 
answer  was  assurance  enough. 

' '  That  is  the  way  I  think  I  should  feel  if  I  were 
a  man," — her  voice  fell, — "but  I  am  just  a  woman," 
she  added,  sadly. 

If  he  had  been  older,  or  more  experienced,  he 
might  have  put  some  of  his  thoughts  into  words, — 
Horton  would  have  given  something  for  his  chance, — 
but  he  only  flushed  a  little  more  deeply,  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment.  Horton  studied  him  thoughtfully  from 
his  three  or  four  years  of  superior  experience,  and 
was  forced  to  grant  that  notwithstanding  his  appear- 
ance of  a  big  overgrown  boy  he  promised  a  forceful 

31 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

personality.  He  was  above  middle  height,  stockily 
built,  and  broad  in  the  shoulders,  a  body  that  whole- 
some out-door  labor  had  hardened  and  made  powerful. 
His  features  were  still  rather  rounded  and  boyish  in 
spite  of  the  salient  chin  and  keen  gray  eyes,  and  there 
was  a  dark  down  on  his  upper  lip.  Horton  judged 
that  he  was  about  nineteen  or  possibly  twenty. 

The  girl  broke  the  silence.  "Do  you  think  there 
are  chances  for  women  too  in  California?"  she  asked. 

The  boy 's  eyes  rested  on  her  with  a  gleam  of  mirth. 
"To  marry? — yes,"  he  said. 

She  chose  to  treat  the  remark  indulgently,  and 
smiled.  "I  don't  think  that  was  what  I  meant,"  she 
said.  ' '  What  can  a  woman  do  to  make  a  living  ? ' ' 

"There  you  have  me,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "I 
guess  about  the  same  chance  as  in  the  east,  for  most 
things — unless  she  has  money  and  knows  how  to  invest 
it.  Of  course,  anything  like  manual  labor — servant's 
work — there's  plenty  of  chance  for  that,  and  good 
pay." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time,  and  the  boy  bent 
forward,  mischievously  pinching  the  tip  of  the  baby's 
shoe.  The  little  thing  dimpled  and  drew  her  feet  up 
under  her.  She  was  curled  up  close  to  the  girl,  and 
had  been  eying  him  gravely  while  he  talked.  ' '  Come 
over  here,"  he  said,  patting  his  knee.  For  answer  she 
smiled  at  him,  and  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 
peeped  at  him  through  her  fingers.  "You  little 

32 


Reflections  of  a  Knight-Errant 

minx!"  he  said.  He  reached  over  and  lifted  her  to 
his  knee.  "Isn't  she  a  pretty  one — how  old  do  you 
think  she  is?"  he  asked  the  girl. 

She  looked  at  him  absently.  "I  don't  know,"  she 
said.  Then  as  her  eyes  rested  on  the  baby  her  ex- 
pression changed,  and  she  smiled  at  the  little  thing. 
"Oh, — I  think  she  must  be  only  a  little  over  two — 
she  can't  talk  yet." 

"What's  your  name,  baby?"  he  asked,  pinching 
her  cheek.  She  showed  her  small  teeth  in  a  smile, 
and  gurgled  something  unintelligible,  and  he  laughed. 
"It  sounds  like  Chinese,"  he  said.  "She  does  know 
her  name,  I  suppose,  and  I  know  mine,  and  you  know 
yours,  but  we  none  of  us  know  each  other's,"  he 
colored  a  little  as  he  spoke,  but  his  look  was  ques- 
tioning. 

She  answered  him  indifferently.  "Names  don't 
matter,  do  they,  when  people  just  meet  for  a  day." 

His  color  deepened,  but  his  mouth  set  somewhat  in 
what  would  be  a  hard  line  in  older  life.  "Names 
always  matter,"  he  said.  "They're  something  to  re- 
member one  by  at  any  rate — mine's  Richard — Richard 

Allison "  He  looked  across  at  her  expectantly, 

and  she  said  very  quietly,  "Mine  is  Kate — that  is 
short  and  easy  to  remember — Kate  Moore." 

"Kate,"  he  repeated.  "It's  a  pretty  name,  I 
think," — his  manner  held  a  good  deal  of  boyish  ad- 
miration,— "it  suits  you,  somehow." 

3  33 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"I  am  glad  you  approve  of  it,"  she  said  so  coldly 
that  he  drew  back  hurt.  Horton  felt  a  sudden  glow 
of  satisfaction  at  his  discomfiture  that  increased  when 
the  silence  lasted,  and  Mr.  Allison  finally  suggested 
that  he  would  take  the  baby  back  to  her  mother,  and 
his  companion  acquiesced  with  a  careless  "thank 
you." 

On  his  departure  she  laid  her  head  back  with  an 
air  of  utter  weariness ;  Horton  thought  that  she  looked 
paler  and  thinner  than  she  had  the  day  before,  and  a 
question  that  had  worried  him  through  the  last  two 
days  presented  itself  again  for  solution.  How  long 
could  she  stand  a  course  of  starvation?  For  he  was 
convinced  either  that  she  was  too  ill  to  eat,  or  what 
was  far  more  probable,  too  meagrely  supplied  with 
money.  Her  questions  regarding  employment  struck 
him  as  pathetic  in  the  face  of  the  strict  economy  he 
had  noticed.  She  allowed  herself  only  one  meal  a 
day  in  the  dining-car,  and  if  she  partook  of  anything 
else  he  had  failed  to  observe  it.  She  carried  no  lunch 
basket,  and  persistently  declined  the  fruit  the  train- 
boy  thrust  under  her  nose,  nor  did  she  indulge  either 
in  books,  magazines,  or  newspapers.  His  observations 
had  so  impressed  him  that  the  subject  had  grown  upon 
his  nerves,  and  he  had  cudgelled  his  brains  in  a  vain 
endeavor  to  solve  the  difficulty.  Was  she  going  to 
land  in  Los  Angeles  an  entire  stranger,  and  short  of 
money?  It  looked  so  to  Horton.  He  had  listened  for 

34 


Reflections  of  a  Knight-Errant 

any  mention  of  friends,  or  relatives,  but  there  had 
been  none.  She  seemed  to  shrink  with  nervous  dread 
from  attracting  the  least  attention,  suspicious  even 
of  the  boy's  rather  blundering  and  harmless  curiosity. 
Horton  had  passed  beyond  any  sense  of  self -ridicule ; 
he  was  too  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  on  the  qui  vive 
for  his  opportunity.  To-day  he  knew  her  name,  to- 
morrow might  offer  him  something  more;  it  should 
not  be  the  acquaintance  of  a  day  with  him  if  he  could 
help  it. 

The  conductor  passed  through  the  car,  and  stopped 
a  moment  at  Horton 's  seat.  "Heard  your  party  say 
he  was  getting  off  at  Albuquerque,"  he  announced. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  Horton  said.  "It  would 
be  better  if  all  his  kind  lost  themselves  in  the  desert. ' ' 

"I  guess  you're  about  right  there,"  said  the  con- 
ductor. "He  an'  that  slim  un  are  two  hard  cases,  I 
figure." 

"Are  they  both  getting  off  at  Albuquerque?" 
Horton  asked. 

"From  their  talk  they  was,"  the  conductor  re- 
plied. "They  have  tickets  through,  though,  to  Seat- 
tle— it's  only  a  stop  off,  I  guess." 

' '  Thank  you  for  telling  me, ' '  said  Horton,  and  the 
conductor  nodded  good-naturedly  in  answer  as  he 
passed  on.  Horton  wondered  if  the  girl  opposite 
heard  this  conversation,  and  if  it  meant  anything  to 
her. 

35 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

It  was  not  until  several  hours  later  that  the  boy 
returned,  and  from  his  manner  he  was  evidently 
doubtful  of  his  welcome,  but  he  was  received  with  a 
smile,  and  was  soon  talking  again,  quite  at  his  ease. 
Horton  was  amused  by  his  comments  on  his  Aunt. 
"Oh,  no  she  isn't!"  he  said,  in  answer  to  some  re- 
mark of  the  girl's.  "She's  not  old,  and  she's  quite 
good  looking.  She 's  short  and  plump,  and  she  always 
wears  a  lot  of  gray  hair  up  on  the  top  of  her  head. 
She  talks  all  the  time,  though  her  name  is  Mrs. 
Silence,"  the  boy  grinned,  "no,  really  that  is  her 
name — Aunt  Clarissa  Silence." 

' '  I  think  she  must  be  interesting, ' '  said  the  girl. 

"Well,  perhaps  she  is,"  Mr.  Allison  admitted, 
somewhat  doubtfully.  "She  has  lots  of  friends,  and 
they  make  allowances  for  her  queer  doings.  You  see, 
she  has  lived  in  Los  Angeles  almost  ever  since  it  was  a 
village,  and  she  has  a  good  deal  of  property  there. 
She  takes  an  interest  in  all  kinds  of  people,  and 
some  of  the  things  that  happen  to  Aunt  Silence!" 
The  boy  laughed,  "  I  '11  give  you  a  specimen — this  was 
just  before  I  went  east.  I  came  down  from  Berkeley 
and  stopped  over  one  afternoon  just  to  see  Aunt 
Silence — I  told  you  she  gave  me  this  trip.  .  .  . 
Well,  as  I  went  up  the  steps  of  her  house  there  was 
a  tall,  good-looking  man  coming  down,  and  I  didn't 
see  that  he  looked  anything  but  all  right.  Aunt 
Silence  hadn  't  shut  the  door  after  him  so  I  walked  in. 

36 


Reflections  of  a  Knight-Errant 

She  was  standing  in  the  front  room  and  Hop  Lung 
was  setting  the  chairs  straight,  and  pulling  the  rugs 
about.  Aunt  Silence  looked  terribly  busy  and  Hop's 
little  slits  of  eyes  opened  wide  at  me  for  a  minute,  and 
then  he  went  on  working. 

"  'Hello,  Auntie!'  I  said.  'Are  you  cleaning 
house  ? ' 

"  'It's  you,  is  it,  Dick,'  she  said,  just  as  if  I  had 
been  running  in  and  out  of  the  house  all  day,  'put 
your  satchel  down  and  help  Hop  wheel  that  table 
back  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  will  you.  We  have 
had  a  poor,  unfortunate  gentleman  here  this  after- 
noon, ' — you  don 't  need  to  ask  Aunt  Silence  any  ques- 
tions, she  just  goes  right  on, — '  I  was  sitting  over  here 
by  the  window, '  she  said,  '  and  I  saw  him  come  up  on 
the  porch.  Hop  didn't  answer  the  bell,  so  I  went  my- 
self and  opened  the  door.  He  took  off  his  hat  to  me— 
such  a  nice-looking  man — and  he  smiled  and  said, 
"How  do  you  do,  Madame."  ' 

"  'I  said,  "How  do  you  do,  sir."  ' 

"  'Said  he,  "Madame,  I  have  an  unusual  request 
to  make  of  you,  and  I  am  grieved  indeed  to  have  to 
ask  your  help, — but  I  am  in  the  most  unfortunate 
predicament," — 'he  was  a  very  polite  man,  Dick, 
and  he  looked  so  sad ! '  my  Aunt  Silence  said. 

"  'Don't  let  it  worry  you,  sir,'  she  assured  him. 
'What  is  the  matter?' 

"  'It  is  just  this,  Madame,'  said  he.  ll  am,  un- 
37 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

fortunately,  subject  to  attacks — I  mean  fits,  Madame, 
and  I  feel  one  coming  on  now — it  is  most  embarrassing 
to  have  one  on  the  street — would  you  then  allow  me  to 
have  it  in  your  house  ? ' 

"Now  this  is  my  Aunt  Silence !  'You  poor  man !' 
said  she.  '  Of  course  you  may !  Here,  Hop, ' — for  Hop 
had  evidently  appeared  by  that  time, — '  you  wheel  that 
table  out  of  the  way,  and  put  back  those  chairs — 
here's  a  gentleman  who  wishes  to  have  a  fit — now, 
sir ' 

"  'Aunt  Clara!' I  said. 

"  'It  is  quite  true,  Dick,'  she  said.  'He  had  his 
attack,  here,  and  it  was  a  severe  one — very  severe — 
and  when  it  was  over  I  said  to  him,  "Now  you  poor 
man,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you — any  medi- 
cine I  can  give  you  ? ' ' — he  looked  quite  exhausted. ' 

"  'Thank  you,  Madame,'  he  said,  gratefully.  'It 
is  my  custom  after  one  of  these  wretched  attacks  to 
take  a  very  strong  dose  of  whiskey — but  of  course  I 
could  not  ask  you ' 

* '  '  And  why  not  ? '  exclaimed  Aunt  Silence.  '  Here, 
Hop,  bring  bottle-whiskey,  and  pitcher-water,  go, 
Hop,  heap  quick!'  .  .  .  'Well,  he  took  the  whiskey 
—a  very  large  drink,'  Aunt  Silence  continued,  'and 
then  he  prepared  to  go.  At  the  door  he  bowed  to  me, 
"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  Madame,"  he  said, 
his  voice  trembling,  "  you  have  been  so  kind."  ' 
'  'Not  at  all, '  Aunt  Silence  replied,  bowing  to  him 

38 


Reflections  of  a  Knight-Errant 

too,  'you  are  very  welcome,  and  the  next  time  you 
happen  to  be  in  this  neighborhood,  and  you  find  one 
of  them  coming  on,  just  come  in.' 

"  'Aunt  Silence!'  I  said,  indignantly,  'how  could 
you !  He  was  just  guying  you,  or  else  he  was  a  fraud, 
or  insane — '  and  then  I  sat  down  and  howled.  Hop 
gave  a  grunt  too,  and  then  choked,  and  shuffled  off 
to  the  kitchen,  but  Aunt  Silence  took  my  laughter 
calmly.  She  has  big  blue  eyes  that  never  change, 
no  matter  if  she  is  laughing,  or  as  mad  as  fire,  and 
she  only  looked  at  me. 

' '  '  Richard, '  she  said,  gravely.  '  I  was  quite  inter- 
ested to  see  how  that  gentleman  would  arrange  his 
attack,' — and  her  mouth — Aunt  Silence  has  a  pretty 
wide  mouth — began  to  go  up  at  one  side, — 'and  I 
thought  too  that  if  he  went  to  all  that  trouble  just 
for  a  drink — he  certainly  had  earned  it ! '  ; 

Horton  had  turned  well  away  to  hide  his  face  dur- 
ing this  narrative  which  the  young  fellow  gave  with  a 
clever  flexibility  of  voice,  and  power  of  imitation  that 
made  it  really  humorous,  and  the  girl's  laugh  rang 
out  full  of  unaffected  mirth.  "Oh,"  she  said,  "how 
funny! — But  do  you  think  he  really  had  a  fit?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Allison. 

"But  do  you  think  your  Aunt  thought  it  was  a 
fit?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  repeated,  grinning.  "If  you 
knew  my  Aunt  Silence,  you  wouldn  't  know  either. ' ' 

39 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"I  wish  I  did  know  her — I  think  she  must  be 
fun. ' '  She  spoke  with  a  girlish  lilt  in  her  voice ;  her 
laughter  seemed  to  have  melted  her  reserve  for  the 
moment. 

' '  Well,  you  can  know  her, ' '  said  the  young  fellow, 
quickly.  "I'll  wager  my  hat  we  are  back  in  Los 
Angeles  in  two  days,  and  I  will  bring  Aunt  Clara  to 
see  you — she  would  fall  in  love  with  you.  She 's  pecu- 
liar, but  she  is  an  awfully  good  friend  to  have — Aunt 
Silence  is." 

The  boy 's  keen  eyes  were  on  her,  and  Horton  could 
not  restrain  his  own  quick  glance.  There  was  a 
moment's  pause,  and  then  she  answered  evenly, 
"Thank  you — it's  kind  of  you,  but  I  won't  know  just 
at  first  where  I  shall  be — "  then  as  if  sorry  for  the 
hurt  his  look  expressed,  she  added  hesitatingly,  "I 
might  let  you  know  when  I  am  able " 

"Would  you  really  do  that!"  He  was  eager 
again,  almost  stammering  in  his  earnestness.  "I 
didn't  want  to  bother  you — only  I  thought — going  to 
a  place  alone,  and  you  hadn't  mentioned  friends — I 
make  fun  of  Aunt  Silence,  you  know,  but  really,  she 
is  fine,  and  she  has  position  too " 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  the  girl  interrupted, 
still  speaking  gently.  ' '  She  has  a  heart  large  enough 
to  take  in  a  stranger,  and  she  has  a  position  that 
allows  her  to  be  original,  regardless  of  foolish  people 's 
opinions. ' ' 

40 


Reflections  of  a  Knight-Errant 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy,  energetically,  "that's  exactly 
what  I  mean."  He  dived  into  his  pocket,  bringing 
forth  paper  and  pencil.  "See  here,"  he  exclaimed, 
' '  I  will  write  down  her  address — I  will  be  there  for  a 
day  or  two,  even  if  we  do  go  up  the  Canyon — and 
there  is  my  Berkeley  address  too.  You  will  let  me 
know,  won't  you?"  he  paused,  looking  up,  pencil  in 
hand. 

' '  When  I  can,  I  will, ' '  she  said  in  a  tone  that  Hor- 
ton  thought  he  understood  better  than  the  boy. 
Young  Allison's  eyes  were  shining,  but  the  girl's 
manner  was  lifeless,  and  she  complained  presently  of 
a  headache.  He  arranged  a  pillow  for  her,  and  she 
covered  her  head  as  was  her  wont,  and  either  slept 
or  appeared  to  sleep  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 
Allison  sat  opposite  to  her,  apparently  reading,  but 
alive  to  every  movement  of  his  companion.  Horton 
felt  almost  sorry  for  him  as  the  afternoon  wore  on. 
When  she  did  arouse  herself,  Horton  heard  him  beg- 
ging her  to  dine  with  him,  but  she  declined  resolutely, 
and  the  young  fellow  went  alone.  In  an  incredibly 
short  time  he  was  back,  and  remained  a  fixture  until 
she  ordered  her  berth  made  up.  He  talked  to  her 
low  and  earnestly,  and  she  was  silent  for  the  most 
part,  listening  with  downcast  eyes,  her  face  white 
and  tired.  Horton  did  not  hear  any  of  their  conver- 
sation, but  he  saw  a  part  of  their  farewell. 

They   had   reached   Albuquerque,   and   the   girl 
41 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

pleaded  her  headache,  "I  wish  I  could  stay  up 
longer,"  she  said,  "but  I  think  I  would  better  go  to 
the  dressing-room  while  the  train  is  still — I  will  say 
good-by  now,  for  you  will  be  leaving  before  morning. ' ' 
The  boy  took  her  hand  in  silence,  and  she  thanked  him 
in  her  soft,  deliberate  voice.  ' '  It  has  been  nice  of  you 
to  try  and  make  my  journey  pleasant, ' '  she  said,  ' '  and 
I  am  very  grateful." 

"You  will  write,  won't  you?"  he  begged,  looking 
thoroughly  boyish  and  miserable. 

' '  When  I  can, ' '  she  repeated,  as  before. 

' '  Confound  Aunt  Silence ! "  he  burst  out,  suddenly. 
"I'd  have  another  day  but  for  her!" 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl,  laughing  a  little,  "oh,  such 
language,  and  of  your  Aunt,  too!"  But  he  was  too 
much  in  earnest  to  treat  anything  lightly.  "Let  me 
take  your  bag  for  you, ' '  he  urged,  and  he  followed  her 
down  the  car  and  into  the  vestibule.  Horton  tor- 
mented himself  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  by  wonder- 
ing if  the  young  man  had  after  all  won  a  somewhat 
kinder  farewell  from  her  there,  and  he  hugged  to 
himself  with  positive  joy  the  thought  of  Aunt  Clarissa 
Silence  awaiting  her  nephew  in  the  cold  hours  of  the 
morning. 


IV. 

THE  LOST  OPPORTUNITY 

HORTON  PAYNE  spent  a  restless  night,  and  woke 
early  the  next  morning  to  a  sense  of  vague  discomfort 
that  grew  into  a  consciousness  of  the  unusual.  He 
lay  for  a  time  trying  to  gather  confirmation  of  his 
impression,  and  realized  then  that  there  was  perfect 
quiet  about  him.  The  jar  and  motion  had  ceased, 
they  were  standing  still,  and  as  he  lay  he  could  hear 
the  moaning  sigh  of  the  wind  as  it  swept  along  the 
side  of  the  car.  Horton  parted  his  curtain,  and 
looked  down  into  the  aisle.  All  was  still,  every  cur- 
tain drawn,  save  those  of  the  lower  opposite.  The 
curtains  of  the  girl's  berth  were  pulled  back,  and 
it  was  empty.  Horton  had  a  sudden  sinking  sensation 
that  was  fairly  sickening  in  its  intensity — she  had 
also  gone  then  during  the  night?  Why  were  they 
standing  still  here  in  the  midst  of  the  desert?  He 
had  an  impression  that  they  had  not  moved  for  a 
long  time. 

He  dragged  at  his  clothes,  and  put  them  on,  con- 
scious only  of  a  burning  desire  to  learn  if  his  fear  was 
well  founded — the  conductor  could  tell  him.  Possibly 
she  like  himself  had  been  waked  by  the  stillness,  and 
had  risen.  The  thought  steadied  him  in  his  haste  to 

43 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

be  dressed,  but  the  toilet  that  he  completed  in  the 
dressing-room  was  of  the  briefest. 

He  went  back  through  the  car,  but  all  was  still 
curtained  and  quiet;  and  he  went  on  quickly  to  the 
outer  vestibule.  The  pale  light  of  early  morning  met 
him  with  a  chill  breath,  and  he  stopped  a  moment  on 
the  platform  of  the  car  looking  out.  They  stood  in 
the  midst  of  a  vast  gray  expanse,  dim  and  illimitable, 
the  gray  of  the  earth  meeting  at  the  distant  horizon 
the  pale  gray  of  the  sky.  The  chill  wind  sighed  drear- 
ily as  it  swept  over  the  wide  ocean  of  sand,  and  car- 
ried its  murmur  on  and  on,  endlessly. 

Horton  swung  himself  out  from  the  steps  and 
looked  about  him.  In  the  distance  the  engine  sent 
up  a  column  of  black  smoke  into  the  sky,  and  there 
was  a  group  of  men  moving  about,  one  or  two  carry- 
ing lighted  lanterns  that  showed  as  spots  of  sickly 
color  in  the  universal  pallid  tint.  Horton  had  guessed 
by  now  that  there  was  some  break-down,  but  that  was 
not  what  interested  him.  He  moved  back,  and  leaning 
out  on  the  other  side,  found  the  object  of  his  search. 
She  stood  a  few  yards  away  in  the  sand,  her  back  to 
him,  facing  the  east.  On  the  horizon  a  line  of  slowly 
widening  pale  pink  divided  the  gray  of  earth  and  sky, 
and  Horton  stood  on  the  lowest  step  watching  it  also. 
His  feverish  anxiety  was  over,  and  he  felt  almost  con- 
tent. It  mattered  nothing  to  him  now  how  long  they 
were  held  up  on  the  desert. 

44 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

It  grew  light  rapidly,  a  colder  light,  that  dispelled 
the  softer  mantle  of  gray.  The  pink  line  on  the 
horizon  widened  like  an  opening  mouth,  the  sullen 
lips  of  earth  and  low-hung  sky  showing  distinct 
against  the  glow  within.  Into  the  opening  came  the 
sun,  and  hung  a  moment,  its  level  rays  touching  the 
undulating  sand  waves  with  a  rosy  glow,  tipping  the 
green  of  the  tiny  cactus  with  light,  and  resting  in 
warm  brilliancy  on  the  stretches  of  white  alkali. 
Then  the  lips  slowly  closed,  the  light  and  glow  faded 
away,  the  sky  hung  a  sullen  gray  over  a  sombre  earth, 
and  the  wind  whistled  more  loudly  as  it  caught  up  the 
eddies  of  sand.  It  lifted  the  ends  of  the  girl's  long 
veil  and  flung  them  into  her  face,  and  she  caught 
them  and  held  them  down  as  she  came  back  to  the  car. 
She  was  at  the  step  before  she  looked  up  and  saw  Hor- 
ton,  and  the  expression  that  crossed  her  face  was  as 
swift  as  thought.  It  lifted  her  brows,  and  straight- 
ened her  lips,  a  mere  touch  of  hesitation,  a  drawing 
back,  and  it  was  gone.  She  looked  up  into  his  face 
as  she  put  her  hand  on  the  rail  to  raise  herself  to  the 
step,  and  Horton  drew  to  one  side,  then  bent  down. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  said.  His  voice  sounded 
strange  to  himself.  She  gave  him  her  other  hand, 
her  eyes  still  on  his,  and  he  drew  her  up  close  beside 
him  on  the  step,  his  other  arm  steadying  her  for  a 
moment  as  she  swayed  against  him,  gaining  her  bal- 
ance. She  was  so  near  that  her  shoulder  pressed  his 

45 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

breast,  and  he  felt  her  breath  on  his  cheek  as  he  bent 
over  her.  The  next  moment  she  had  murmured  a 
chilly  "thank  you"  and  was  gone. 

Horton  stood  still  a  long  time  on  the  step  staring 
out  over  the  wind-swept  sand.  There  was  a  pulse  in 
his  throat  that  pounded  in  a  regular  rhythm,  and  his 
mouth  felt  dry.  ...  So  it  meant  all  that  to  him! 
Horton  had  a  terror  of  his  capacity  for  feeling,  and 
the  lengths  to  which  it  would  carry  him.  He  had  the 
past  to  remember,  and  had  promised  himself  to  walk 
carefully  in  the  future.  Was  that  what  he  had  been 
doing  in  the  last  few  days?  He  had  let  one  idea 
take  possession  of  him  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else.  A  face  had  touched  his  fancy,  and  straightway 
he  had  proceeded  to  clothe  it  with  interest,  and  ideal- 
ize a  character  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about.  The 
fact  that  she  had  sought  to  avoid  him  had  only  lent 
zest  to  his  imagination.  He  told  himself  that  he  had 
studied  her  face  with  an  artistic  appreciation  that  was 
impersonal,  but  at  the  touch  of  her  hand  and  her  warm 
breath  on  his  cheek  the  blood  had  leapt  in  his  veins. 
There  was  nothing  impersonal  in  that  sensation;  it 
was  a  perfect  passion  of  longing  that  had  swept  over 
him. 

He  dropped  down  into  the  sand,  and  plunging  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  facing  the  gray  expanse. 
Why  should  he  not  yield  to  his  inclination — to  whom 
was  he  accountable  for  his  actions?  If  he  could  win 

46 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

recognition  from  her,  why  should  he  not?  Her  mys- 
terious reserve  might  have  a  perfectly  simple  explana- 
tion. Why  should  not  her  undeniable  refinement 
argue  gentle  surroundings,  and  careful  rearing  ?  Had 
he  found  the  last  three  homeless,  foot-free  years  so 
attractive  that  he  should  desire  a  continuance  of 
them? 

The  black-haired  woman  of  the  sleeping-car  came 
out  upon  the  platform  to  view  the  morning  and  the 
cause  of  delay,  and  watched  him  curiously.  He  was 
turned  so  that  she  had  a  good  view  of  his  profile.  It 
was  a  face  of  contradictions,  interesting  to  the  student 
of  physiognomy.  The  head  and  upper  part  of  the 
face  was  really  handsome,  the  forehead  broad,  with 
very  straight  brows,  the  eyes  deeply  blue  and  well 
set;  the  straight  nose  with  its  delicate  nostrils  lent  a 
haughty  distinction  to  the  face,  but  the  mouth  and 
chin  conformed  to  no  canons  of  beauty.  The  jaw 
was  massive  and  powerful,  the  mouth  large  with  full 
mobile  lips  that  in  a  smile  parted  over  a  row  of  big 
white  teeth ;  it  was  a  mouth  impressive  either  in  anger 
or  laughter,  in  sarcasm  or  amusement.  It  was  its 
capacity  for  expression  that  saved  it  from  pure  animal 
coarseness.  The  eyes  belonged  to  the  idealist,  the 
nose  to  the  highly  fastidious,  and  the  jaw  to  the  man 
of  stubborn  passions. 

The  Spanish  woman  was  not  much  of  an  analyst, 
but  she  had  the  instinct  of  her  kind  for  an  attractive 

47 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

personality.  Tall  and  broad  across  the  shoulders, 
deep  in  the  chest  and  narrow  in  the  hips,  he  looked 
strong  and  supple  of  muscle.  As  he  stood  erect,  his 
head  thrown  back,  gazing  into  space,  he  presented  a 
picture  of  virile  young  manhood  that  the  woman  did 
not  fail  to  appreciate. 

She  smiled  brightly  at  his  rather  set  face  when  he 
came  back  to  the  step.  "Are  we  going  to  stand  here 
all  day  ? ' '  she  asked  him. 

He  drew  himself  up  and  stood  beside  her,  his  air 
bantering.  "Would  you  mind?"  he  returned. 

"Not  so  long  as  I  was  entertained,"  she  said, 
shrugging  her  plump  shoulders,  and  glancing  up 
coquettishly,  "but  I'm  bored  to  death!" 

"Really!"  He  leaned  back  against  the  car  re- 
garding her  gravely.  "How  deceptive  appearances 

j  j 

She  pursed  her  red  lips.  "Do  you  know  where 
Joplin,  Missouri,  is?" 

"I  have  a  vague  idea." 

"Do  you  know  how  much  lead  is  a  ton,  and  how 
many  tons  all  the  lead  mines  in  America  produce  in 
a  year — and  how  exorbitant  the  transportation  rates 
are,  and  how  much  was  paid  for  the  Mary  Ann  and 
dropped  in  the  Alva  C.?  .  .  .  And  do  you  like 
Worcestershire  sauce  with  porterhouse  steak,  and 
mustard  with  mutton  chops,  and  does  shrimp  salad 

give  you  a  pain — and " 

48 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

"Oh,  spare  us!"  exclaimed  Horton,  laughing. 
"How  can  you  endure  it?  Don't  you  long  for  the 
end  of  the  journey?" 

"Yes,  but  what  am  I  to  do?  I  can't  look  out  of 
the  window  all  day — it's  too  dreary — and  charming 

people  don't  come  and  talk  to  me "  her  look  was 

expressive,  and  Horton  laughed  again  at  her  impu- 
dence, half  attracted  in  spite  of  himself.  Her  vivid 
color  had  risen,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  in  Los  Angeles  too?"  she 
asked  then,  and  Horton  was  meditating  a  reply,  when 
something  soft  and  heavy  slapped  down  the  steps  and 
clung  to  his  leg.  It  was  the  baby. 

He  bent  over  quickly  and  raised  her,  his  look  very 
gentle.  " Hello !"  he  said.  "You  are  up  early,  little 
girl — are  you  trying  to  fall  off  the  car  ?  Let  me  take 
her  back  for  you,"  he  said  to  the  woman,  and  the 
glance  he  gave  her  was  cool  in  its  polite  indifference. 

It  was  well  along  in  the  morning  when  they  moved 
on,  running  slowly  because  of  their  disabled  engine; 
they  could  not  expect  now  to  reach  their  journey's 
end  until  after  nightfall.  The  wind  had  risen  to  a 
gale,  catching  up  and  whirling  the  sand  in  clouds,  and 
the  sky  was  leaden,  resting  in  heavy  fog  on  the  distant 
line  of  mountains.  Horton  knew  the  meaning  of  the 
low-lying  clouds  well  enough  to  predict  that  a  deluge 
of  rain  would  be  awaiting  them  in  the  San  Bernardino 
Valley.  He  had  spent  the  morning  in  the  smoking- 
4  49 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

car,  busied  with  his  meditations,  but  they  had  only 
led  him  into  the  blind  alley  of  his  inclination.  He 
had  decided  to  seek  his  opportunity — he  would  harbor 
neither  doubt  nor  the  possibility  of  disillusion.  He 
had  passed  judgment  on  the  manner  of  woman  his 
observation  had  revealed,  and  his  imagination  clothed, 
and  he  would  be  turned  aside  by  no  apparent  irrele- 
vances. He  had  endured  the  hours  in  the  smoking- 
car  as  long  as  he  could,  and  had  gone  back  to  his  old 
seat. 

Horton  was  right  in  his  prediction.  They  passed 
through  the  low-lying  fog  clouds  of  the  mountain  into 
a  down-pour  of  rain.  It  streamed  in  rivulets  down 
the  window-panes,  shutting  out  all  view.  Only  once 
during  the  afternoon  was  there  a  respite.  The  rain 
ceased  and  the  sun  shone  for  a  few  brief  moments. 
The  snow-tipped  mountains  stood  out  then,  a  wonder- 
ful deep  blue,  the  foot-hills  a  wet  brown  in  contrast, 
the  green  stretches  of  orange  groves,  sheltered  by  their 
rows  of  sombre  eucalyptus,  glistening  in  the  vivid 
sunlight;  it  came  suddenly  like  the  revelation  of  a 
future  to  the  doubtful-minded.  Horton  raised  his 
window  and  let  in  a  rush  of  cool  air,  its  dampness 
laden  with  the  exquisite  scent  of  wet  earth  and  orange 
leaves.  The  girl  had  lifted  her  head  from  the  pillow 
on  which  it  had  rested  all  afternoon,  and  gazed  eagerly 
on  this  glimpse  into  a  new  world.  Her  face  bright- 
ened, a  faint  color  coming  in  her  cheeks,  and  Horton 

50 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

watched  her  absorbedly,  keeping  his  window  open  for 
her  sake  long  after  the  rain  had  thoroughly  wetted  his 
shoulder. 

The  hours  of  the  late  afternoon  seemed  endless. 
The  lassitude  of  a  long  and  tiresome  journey  rested 
on  the  entire  car,  a  longing  for  fresh  air  and  solid 
ground  under  foot.  The  girl  sat  with  white  face 
and  heavy  eyes.  As  evening  drew  on  she  leaned  over 
several  times  to  ask  the  porter  the  hour,  but  otherwise 
she  sat  perfectly  still.  Horton  had  no  inclination  for 
the  dining-car;  he  felt  certain  that  she  had  eaten 
nothing  that  day  but  fruit,  and  the  thought  of  plenti- 
ful food  for  himself  was  repellent.  He  raged  inter- 
nally at  his  helplessness.  She  looked  too  ill  to  walk 
out  of  the  car,  and  a  silly  conventionality  forbade  his 
laying  his  well-filled  purse  in  her  lap. 

After  dark  she  was  plainly  nervous.  A  spot  of 
color  began  to  grow  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  sat  up 
straight,  her  eyes  restless  in  their  gaze.  Her  look 
passed  over  Horton  several  times  with  the  usual  blank 
indifference,  and  his  jaw  set  more  and  more  deter- 
minedly. The  rain  had  not  lessened  as  they  at  last 
made  their  slow  way  into  the  town,  the  blurred  lights 
slipping  past  them.  Even  before  they  came  into  the 
station,  she  had  risen  and  hurried  into  the  vestibule, 
where  she  stood  waiting  with  several  others,  and  Hor- 
ton had  followed  her.  He  was  obsessed  by  the  fear 
that  after  all  he  would  be  unable  to  prevent  her  going 

51 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

her  way  without  a  word  or  look  for  him.  It  had 
grown  on  him  minute  by  minute  until  he  was  in  a 
veritable  panic.  Whether  he  would  only  keep  her  in 
sight,  and  learn  her  final  destination,  or  by  some  in- 
spiration be  given  his  opportunity,  he  did  not  know; 
here  at  the  end  of  his  journey,  and  after  all  his  hours 
of  consideration,  he  was  merely  acting  blindly. 

She  was  the  first  off  the  train,  and  hurried  along 
the  sloppy  platform,  Horton  following  with  his  long 
swift  stride.  She  went  straight  to  the  ticket-office, 
and  pushed  her  way  in  front  of  the  waiting  group. 
Horton  came  up  too  late  to  hear  her  question,  but  the 
man's  answer  reached  him.  "No,  and  it  won't  be — 
there's  not  a  train  running,"  he  said,  in  his  harsh 
voice.  "Nothing's  come  through  since  morning — it's 
a  bad  wash-out. ' ' 

' '  When  will  they  run  again  ? ' '  Her  voice  sounded 
sharp  and  strained. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  said  the  man,  impatiently;  "not 
while  this  south-easter  lasts — may  be  tied  up  a  week. ' ' 

She  took  her  hand  from  the  window  ledge,  and 
turning  walked  an  uncertain  step  or  two,  and  stopped. 
It  brought  her  almost  against  Horton  and  she  looked 
straight  into  his  face.  He  was  quite  conscious  that 
she  did  not  see  him — her  eyes  were  dazed  and  her  brow 
was  drawn  like  one  who  has  had  a  blow ;  in  the  glare 
of  the  station  lights,  she  appeared  positively  ghastly. 
She  looked  as  if  she  would  fall,  and  Horton  dropped 

52 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

his  bag  and  took  her  arm.    "What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

She  answered  him  mechanically.  "He  says  they 
may  be  tied  up  for  a  week,"  and  then  as  if  dazedly 
aware  of  her  surroundings,  "I  must  sit  down — some- 
where. ' ' 

The  room  was  crowded,  and  Horton  drew  her  to  a 
vacant  space  by  one  of  the  windows,  standing  before 
her  so  as  to  screen  her  somewhat  from  view.  He 
thought  she  would  faint,  and  tugging  at  the  latch  of 
the  window,  he  raised  it  enough  to  let  in  a  gust  of 
wind  and  rain.  "Let  it  blow  in  your  face,"  he  said. 
"You  will  feel  better  in  a  minute." 

He  held  her  against  his  shoulder,  watching  her 
anxiously  until  her  face  gained  a  more  normal  color, 
and  her  look  was  less  vague.  She  moved  presently 
and  lifted  her  head,  but  Horton  spoke  with  decision, 
"Please  don't  move  till  you  are  able.  Regard  me 
as  a  post,  or  the  wall,  or  anything  inanimate  you  like. 
You  are  not  fit  to  stand  and  there  is  not  a  seat  in  the 
room — just  tell  me  what  the  trouble  is,  and  I  will 
help  you  if  I  can. ' ' 

She  reached  out  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  window- 
sill,  partially  supporting  herself  by  it,  and  turned  so 
as  to  face  him.  He  saw  that  she  was  struggling  to 
overcome  her  weakness,  and  gain  somewhat  of  her 
usual  poise,  and  also  that  she  was  considering.  "I 
expected  to  meet  the  Southern  Pacific  train  here  this 
evening, ' '  she  said  finally.  ' '  From  what  he  said  there 

53 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

may  be  none  for  days,  and  I  shall  have  to  wait " 

There  was  a  note  of  evasion  in  her  voice  that  did  not 
escape  Hortoii. 

"But  there  are  plenty  of  places  where  you  can 
stay,"  he  replied;  "it  would  be  only  a  few  days 
at  the  most." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  time,  her  eyes  on  the  floor, 
and  he  waited  until  she  looked  up  at  him.  "Yes," 
she  said,  slowly,  "but  I  have  only  four  dollars  in  my 
purse."  Her  voice  was  low,  and  not  all  her  effort 
could  hide  the  quiver  of  her  chin. 

"You  poor  child,"  said  Horton,  gently.  He  put 
his  hand  over  hers  on  the  window-sill  and  held  it. 
"Now,  will  you  please  listen  to  me,"  he  said,  ear- 
nestly. "Don't  think  again  about  the  money — I  will 
lend  you  as  much  as  you  need, — that  is  just  a  matter 
of  business, — but  there  is  something  else  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me — do  you  trust  me,  or  do  you  think  I 
am  like  that  man  that  thrust  himself  on  you  in  the 
train?" 

There  was  no  evasion  in  her  manner  now  and  her 
eyes  met  his  steadily  and  honestly.  ' '  I  never  thought 
that,"  she  said,  "and  I  should  trust  you." 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied,  "I  wasn't  sure.  .  .  . 
Now  have  you  any  idea  where  you  would  like  to  go  ? " 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully.  "The  conductor 
spoke  once  of  the  Hollenbeck — but  I  am  afraid  it  13 

very  expensive.  He  mentioned  another  hotel — but 

54 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

"The  Hollenbeck  would  be  the  best,"  said  Horton, 
"and  if  you  are  well  enough  now  I  will  see  about 

the  omnibus.  I  must  find  you  a  seat  first "  He 

turned  to  look  about  the  room,  but  she  stopped  him. 

"I  would  rather  stand  here,  thank  you." 

He  looked  doubtfully  at  her.  ' '  I  will  not  be  gone 
long — you  are  sure  you  feel  better?"  His  manner 
expressed  all  the  solicitude  he  felt ;  it  held  both  defer- 
ence and  kindness,  and  the  girl's  eyes  suddenly  filled 
with  tears,  her  lips  trembling. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am — indeed  I  am.  I  was 
sick  with  fright  as  much  as  anything  else,  and  your 
kindness  has  relieved  my  mind.  .  .  .  Please  do  not 
wait." 

Horton  perhaps  looked  his  thoughts,  but  he  only 

said,  "I  will  hurry — and  before  I  go "  He  put 

a  small  but  heavy  purse  in  her  hand,  turning  away 
before  she  could  thank  him. 

As  he  pushed  his  way  through  the  damp  crowd 
at  the  door  and  looked  for  a  conveyance,  he  had  a 
feeling  more  nearly  approaching  happiness  than  any 
he  had  known  for  a  long  time.  Could  he  have  asked 
for  a  better  opportunity  ?  He  would  be  a  poor  wooer 
if  he  could  not  gain  some  response  in  the  time  chance 
had  given  him.  He  felt  a  sense  of  elation.  Three 
days  would  it  be  ?  Possibly.  He  gladly  endured  the 
drip  from  the  station  roof,  and  earnestly  hoped  for  a 
continuance  of  the  downpour.  He  purposely  chose 

55 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

the  discomfort  of  the  hotel  omnibus  rather  than  a  car- 
riage, for  he  was  determined  not  to  forfeit  her  good 
opinion  by  taking  any  possible  advantage  of  the  situa- 
tion. For  the  same  reason  he  would  not  stay  at  the 
Hollenbeck,  and  would  take  care  to  tell  her  so. 

He  returned  to  find  her  leaning  against  the  win- 
dow, looking  weary  and  ill  enough  to  drive  all  other 
thoughts  from  his  mind.  He  remembered  her  meagre 
fare  of  the  last  few  days  with  a  perfect  passion  of 
pity.  "The  omnibus  is  here,"  he  told  her.  "I  want 
you  to  have  some  dinner  as  soon  as  you  can.  If  you 
give  me  your  check  I  will  have  them  send  down  for 
your  trunk." 

"I  have  no  trunk,"  she  said,  dully.  She  spoke 
like  one  who  had  reached  the  limit  of  her  strength, 
and  Horton  asked  her  no  more  questions,  but  guided 
her  to  the  omnibus.  She  sank  into  a  corner  and  low- 
ered her  veil,  and  they  rode  in  silence  through  the 
deluged  streets.  The  two  other  passengers  were  silent 
like  themselves,  and  the  rain  pelted  on  the  roof  above 
them.  Horton  put  aside  his  surprise  at  the  last  con- 
fession his  companion  had  made — she  would  explain 
it  with  the  rest  that  was  unaccountable — his  first  care 
was  to  look  after  her  comfort. 

He  had  decided  on  what  he  would  do,  and  led  her 
directly  through  the  hotel  corridor  to  the  dining- 
room.  "We  wiU  get  something  to  eat  first,"  he  said, 
and  she  acquiesced  in  silence.  His  whispered  instruo- 

56 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

tions  sent  the  waiter  flying  to  the  kitchen,  and  Horton 
observed  her  anxiously  as  she  lifted  her  veil  with  shak- 
ing hands.  The  waiter  would  come  none  too  soon  he 
thought  as  he  looked  across  at  her.  He  poured  out  a 
glass  of  water  for  her  and  she  leaned  her  elbow  on  the 
table,  supporting  her  head  with  her  hand  as  she 
swallowed  a  little  of  it.  It  was  hot  soup  the  waiter 
brought,  and  a  moment  later  a  whiskey  cocktail.  She 
ate  in  silence,  her  eyes  on  her  plate,  and  then  drank 
a  little  of  the  whiskey,  while  Horton  busied  himself 
with  the  menu;  he  was  anxious  to  give  her  time  to 
recover.  When  he  allowed  himself  to  look  up,  she 
was  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  and  a  touch  of  color 
had  crept  into  her  cheeks. 

She  smiled  a  little.  "I  think  that  saved  my  life," 
she  said  with  an  attempt  at  lightness.  "My  head  felt 
like  a  bit  of  thistle-down,  and  my  feet  a  hundred 
miles  away — I  haven't  eaten  much  to-day." 

Horton  did  not  tell  her  how  well  aware  of  the 
fact  he  was,  but  he  caught  at  her  tone  gratefully ;  he 
had  been  uncertain  of  the  attitude  she  would  take. 
"It's  my  belief,"  he  assured  her,  "that  hot  soup  and 
a  cocktail  applied  at  the  right  moment  will  raise  the 
dead — either  one  separately  is  quite  effective,  particu- 
larly the  cocktail,  but  together — they  are  irresistible." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  knew.  Would  you  recom- 
mend it  for  the  nearly  drowned  ?  .  .  .  Listen  to  the 
rain — will  the  place  be  washed  away?" 

57 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Horton  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "You  will  not 
say  that  when  you  have  lived  out  here  a  year  or  two. 
The  correct  thing  is  to  be  thankful  for  every  drop 
that  falls." 

"Are  you  a  Calif ornian ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  but  I  suppose  I  should  call  New  York  my 
home — or  it  was — I  haven't  any  now.  I  have  not 
really  lived  here  since  I  was  a  child,  but  I  have  been 
out  here  a  good  deal — in  Southern  California,  and  I 
like  it ;  it  is  so  very  livable.  Climatically  it  has  always 
appealed  to  me  as  the  perfection  of  common-sense,  and 
financially  it  offers  possibilities  quite  sufficient  to  turn 
one  feverish — if  one  is  inclined  that  way.  Of  course 
socially  it  is  chaotic  and  will  be  for  many  a  long  day — 
it  is  only  natural  that  it  should  be.  What  I  like  is 
that  here  one  stands  with  one's  face  turned  to  the 
future — you  can  only  breathe  in  that  position — and  to 
me  it  is  far  more  attractive  than  looking  backward." 
Horton  had  talked  on  with  the  deliberate  intention  of 
putting  his  companion  at  her  ease,  and  was  rewarded 
by  the  smile  she  gave  him.  He  turned  then  to  a  more 
personal  note.  "I  have  been  travelling  around  for 
the  last  three  years  with  an  idea  of  settling  down  some- 
where if  I  was  attracted,  and  here  I  am  back  again, 
much  at  the  same  point  from  which  I  started.  It  is 
association  after  all  that  makes  the  charm  of  a  place. 
I  have  practically  no  relatives,  not  even  a  sister, 
brother,  or  wife,  and  I  have  about  concluded  that  if 

58 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

there  is  any  spot  I  am  going  to  call  home,  I  would 
better  be  choosing  it."  Horton  had  no  wish  to  force 
the  confidence  of  his  companion;  he  had  hoped  that 
candor  on  his  part  might  melt  her  reserve,  but  in  that 
he  was  disappointed.  In  the  hour  that  followed  he 
discovered  that  he  was  not  talking  to  an  inexperienced 
girl,  but  to  a  clever  woman  who  was  mistress  of  the 
situation.  She  was  frank  in  the  expression  of  her 
gratitude,  but  she  gave  no  explanation  of  her  embar- 
rassing position;  she  simply  ignored  it.  She  evinced 
an  impersonal  but  flattering  interest  in  all  he  had  to 
tell  her  of  himself,  and  showed  herself  quick  and  re- 
sourceful in  subjects  for  conversation,  but  she  skil- 
fully evaded  the  few  and  faint  endeavors  Horton 
made  to  pierce  her  armor  of  secrecy.  He  was  at  a 
loss  to  understand  her,  but  his  earlier  pity  of  her 
apparently  helpless  and  unprotected  condition  was 
merged  in  admiration  of  her  tact  and  quick  intelli- 
gence. In  his  steadily  growing  respect  there  was  no 
place  for  doubt  of  her — it  would  not  stand  the  test 
of  her  perfect  charm.  He  had  been  strongly  attracted 
by  the  girl,  but  he  was  fascinated  by  the  woman. 
She  carried  him  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  played  upon 
his  fancy.  She  touched  the  artist  and  idealist  in  him, 
and  stirred  sentiment  and  recollection. 

She  gradually  lost  her  look  of  weariness,  and  as 
she  leaned  forward  slightly,  the  color  deep  in  her 
cheeks,  a  smile  faintly  touching  her  lips,  or  more 

59 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

rarely  lighting  her  eyes,  Horton  gave  himself  up  to 
the  delight  of  the  hour,  and  the  charm  of  his  compan- 
ion. She  was  vivid,  tantalizing,  impersonal.  She 
drew  him  out  on  the  subject  of  his  travels,  and  he 
learned  at  last  a  bit  of  her  history  which  he  treas- 
ured. "I  spent  my  childhood  abroad,"  she  told  him. 
"When  you  were  at  Weimar  did  you  go  on  to  Eisen- 
ach? Do  you  remember  it?" 

"Do  I!"  Horton  exclaimed.  "I  walked  all  over 
those  hills,  and  haunted  the  Wartburg.  I  spent  a 
week  there,  in  the  little  inn  across  the  valley  from 
the  Wartburg — I  can't  remember  its  name. 

"The  Elisebetan's  Huge?"  she  prompted.  "And 
when  you  left  Herr  and  Frau  Tupfer,  and  the  five 
children,  and  the  Dienstmadchen,  and  the  Kochin, 
they  were  all  on  the  steps  to  say  farewell,  and  they 
gave  you  a  bouquet — a  tight  little  bouquet — the  flowers 

all  squeezed  together  into  a  little  cone,  like  this " 

she  brought  her  hands  together  in  a  pretty  gesture. 

"Yes,  but  the  children  were  all  grown  up  then, 
all  but  two."  He  leaned  his  folded  arms  on  the  table, 
and  bent  over,  his  blue  eyes  alight.  "Were  you  a 
very  little  girl  when  you  were  there?" 

' '  I  was  old  enough  to  remember, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  I 
was  there  at  the  inn  a  long  time.  .  .  .  Do  you  re- 
member the  beech  woods,  and  the  pine  forest  across 
the  valley — the  pine-needles  were  so  thick  your  foot- 
steps couldn't  make  a  sound.  .  .  .  And  the  Drach- 
enschlucht !  I  used  to  climb  all  over  the  rocks  there 

60 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

and  gather  the  ferns.  Then  the  shops  in  the  town — 
there  was  a  place  where  they  did  wonderful  embroid- 
ery, great  blue  dragons  on  white  linen — and  the  little 
windows  full  of  old  silver!"  Her  eyes  were  shining. 

"Yes,"  said  Horton,  smiling  at  her,  "I  spent  a 
good  deal  of  time  in  those  shops.  ...  I  couldn't 
help  noticing  the  pin  you  wear — I  have  admired  it — 
is  it  something  you  found  over  there  ? ' ' 

"No,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  hesitation,  "I  have 
had  this  ever  since  I  can  remember — I  think  it  was  my 
mother's.  I  almost  never  wear  jewelry,  but  I  am  very 
fond  of  this.  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  "  She  unfast- 
ened it  from  her  collar  and  held  it  out  to  him.  There 
was  something  more  intimate,  as  of  older  acquaintance, 
in  the  act,  and  as  Horton  took  it  from  her  hand  his 
fingers  touched  her  soft  palm  lingeringly,  and  not  all 
his  self-control  could  hide  the  sudden  fire  that  flamed 
in  his  glance.  He  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  ornament  in 
his  hand,  thoroughly  annoyed  with  himself;  he  was 
grateful  to  her  for  her  quiet  ignoring  of  his  momen- 
tary lapse. 

"It  is  Flemish  silver  and  quite  old,  I  think,"  she 
said,  in  her  cool,  deliberate  voice.  "Do  you  think  it 
is  valuable?" 

"I  should  think  that  it  was,  to  one  who  knew 
anything  at  all  about  such  things, ' '  Horton  heard  him- 
self say.  "It  is  certainly  old  and  the  workmanship 
is  beautiful." 

It  was  in  reality  a  beautiful  thing,  a  pendant  a 
61 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

little  over  three  inches  long,  of  filigree  work  in  dull 
silver,  a  tracery  of  roses  and  leaves,  the  cutting  and 
conception  showing  plainly  its  age.  The  petals  of  the 
roses  were  done  in  gold,  and  raised  on  the  silver,  a 
rose  diamond  forming  the  heart  of  each  flower.  Hor- 
ton  counted  a  dozen  of  the  small  sparkling  diamonds. 
"Do  you  know  its  history?"  he  asked,  as  he  handed 
it  back  to  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  absently,  "I  had  forgotten  that 
I  had  it."  She  looked  down  thoughtfully  at  it  as 
it  lay  in  her  hand.  "Do  you  like  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  it  is  exquisite,"  he  answered  truthfully. 
"I  should  think  you  would  value  it — particularly  if 
it  had  associations." 

' '  I  saw  something  like  it  at  Amsterdam, ' '  she  con- 
tinued, as  she  fastened  it  at  her  throat,  "but  I  was 
too  little  to  ask  about  the  cost " 

"Holland,  also!"  exclaimed  Horton.  "Where 
else  have  you  been?" 

"Oh,  in  many  places,"  she  said,  looking  down,  her 
expression  changing.  "You  seem  to  have  spent  a 
great  deal  of  time  in  Germany — why  was  it?  Did 
you  enjoy  it  the  most?" 

"Perhaps  I  did  on  the  whole,  but  it  was  owing  to 
circumstances  that  I  was  there  so  long.  Were  you  in 
Dresden?"  he  asked  her.  "Do  you  remember  it?" 
She  had  granted  him  a  morsel,  and  he  was  eager  for 
more. 

62 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

"Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I  was,  and  I  remember 
some  things  well." 

"You  remember  the  Madonna,  the  Sistine  Ma- 
donna?" He  flushed  at  her  quick  glance,  but  went 
on.  "It  was  a  likeness  to  the  painting,  something 
about  your  forehead  and  eyes,  that  made  me  stare 
at  you  when  you  came  on  the  train — I  appeared  to  be 
rude — but  I  didn't  mean  to  be.  I  thought  I  had  seen 
you  before,  somewhere,  and  yet  I  knew  I  had  not,  and 
I  kept  on  wondering  and  trying  to  place  you,  until 
the  baby  woke  you  up  and  you  held  her.  For  a 
moment  you  had  the  same  expression,  and  I  knew 

then  what  it  was  that  had  puzzled  me "  He 

stopped,  struck  by  her  manner,  and  in  the  next  few 
moments  he  would  most  gladly  have  recalled  his  words. 
Her  eyes  had  met  his  with  that  curious  contraction  of 
the  pupil  that  made  them  appear  strangely  light,  and 
then  her  gaze  dropped,  her  color  slowly  fading  until 
she  was  the  cold,  white-faced  girl  of  the  last  few 
days.  Horton  cursed  himself  silently  for  a  blunder- 
ing fool,  though  he  was  bewildered  at  her  emotion, 
and  ignorant  of  its  cause.  He  felt  absolutely 
wretched,  for  he  struggled  with  the  conviction  that 
in  some  unaccountable  way  he  had  hurt  her  terribly. 
He  was  at  a  loss  for  words,  but  she  spoke  without 
looking  up. 

"Likenesses  are  strange  things,"  she  said,  evenly, 
"and  they  haunt  one  without  apparent  cause  or 

63 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

reason."  The  waiter  had  cleared  the  table  for  coffee, 
and  she  lifted  a  teaspoon,  turning  it  in  her  slender 
fingers,  marking  lines  and  cross  lines  on  the  cloth  as 
she  spoke,  her  eyes  still  lowered.  "I  am  always  see- 
ing them,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  it  is  the  attri- 
butes of  the  person  one  is  reminded  of,  and  not  the 
features— or  rather,  the  likeness  instantly  recalls  the 
attributes — it  is  an  injustice  to  the  resembler." 

Horton  looked  at  her  in  puzzled  amazement.  ' '  Did 
you  object  to  the  comparison  I  made  ? "  he  asked. 

"No — oh,  certainly  not!"  She  sat  up  straight, 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  as  if  collecting  herself. 
"I  don't  think  I  could  explain  just  what  I  did  mean — 
Mr.  Payne,  don't  puzzle  over  me — just  let  me  be." 
She  smiled  again  at  him,  half  sadly,  half  mockingly. 

He  studied  her  elusive  expression  for  a  moment, 
then  turned  from  the  unaccountable  in  her  to  some- 
thing tangible.  "How  did  you  know  my  name?" 
he  asked. 

She  glanced  at  him  from  under  her  lashes,  a  look 
wholly  mischievous.  "Perhaps  in  the  same  way  that 
you  learned  mine  ? ' '  she  retorted.  If  she  was  seeking 
to  divert  him  she  succeeded,  for  his  color  deepened, 
and  he  looked  guilty. 

"I  overheard  you  tell  it  to  that  boy  on  the  train," 
he  confessed.  "I  was  not  exactly  eavesdropping,  but 
— your  voice  was  far  more  interesting  than  my  book — 
do  you  blame  me?"  His  manner  was  eager  again, 

64 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

his  eyes  alight;  he  had  seized  instantly  upon  her  ap- 
proach to  coquetry,  and  she  stiffened. 

"Certainly  not,"  she  said,  coldly.  "It  was  a  dull 
journey  and  you  wanted  amusement.  There  is  noth- 
ing mysterious  about  the  way  I  learned  your  name. 
It  is  engraved  on  the  silver  handle  of  your  umbrella, 
and  it  stood  at  the  corner  of  my  seat  for  a  day  or 
more."  She  leaned  back  as  she  spoke  and  glanced 
over  the  dining-room.  "Every  one  else  has  finished 
long  ago,"  she  added,  "and  I  ought  to  go  and  ask 
about  my  room,  I  think, — and  you — are  you  not  tired 
after  such  a  day?"  Her  wonderfully  expressive 
voice  dropped  on  the  last  sentence  to  an  intonation  so 
soft  as  to  take  the  sting  but  not  the  meaning  from  the 
preceding  words.  She  intended  that  he  should  keep 
his  distance,  at  least  until  her  own  good  time.  If  Hor- 
ton  had  cared  less  he  would  have  been  angered  by  the 
quiet  assurance  of  her  attitude.  He  would  have  to 
travel  according  to  her  will — for  a  time.  As  he 
folded  his  napkin  with  an  uncertain  hand  he  vowed 
to  himself  that  he  would  be  patient  for  a  time — how 
long  he  could  not  tell — but  she  should  hear  him  in  the 
end.  As  she  walked  by  his  side  out  of  the  room,  he 
looked  down  at  her  with  a  tightening  sensation  in  his 
throat.  He  had  wandered  about  in  search  of  his  hap- 
piness, and  made  his  mistakes,  and  he  had  decided 
that  it  stood  within  reach  of  his  arm ;  he  would  make  a 
manful  struggle  rather  than  lose  it. 

5  65 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

They  had  reached  the  door  when  she  stopped. 
"My  bag?"  she  said,  anxiously.  "I  had  forgotten 
about  it." 

"It  is  here,"  said  Horton.  "I  had  it,  and  the 
waiter  took  it.  If  you  will  wait  here  I  will  get  it." 
They  had  stepped  into  the  corridor,  and  Horton  led 
the  way  to  a  corner  that  was  screened  by  a  bank  of 
palms.  There  was  a  rug  on  the  floor,  a  desk  by  the 
window,  and  several  easy  chairs.  Horton  left  her  and 
turned  back  into  the  dining-room.  He  brought  her 
bag  back  with  him,  and  she  half  rose  at  his  approach, 
but  he  stopped  her  with  an  entreaty. 

"Please,  not  yet!"  he  begged.  "Not  for  a  few 
minutes — just  ten  minutes — till  I  smoke  a  cigar — that 
is,  if  I  may.  Then  I  will  go  out  into  the  rain  and 
leave  you  in  peace."  His  voice  held  more  of  appeal 
than  he  knew,  and  she  hesitated,  plainly  unwilling. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  late,"  she  objected. 

"It  is  only  a  little  after  nine,"  he  urged.  "I 
will  go  for  a  cigar,  and  be  back  in  a  second.  .  .  . 
Just  ten  minutes,"  he  continued  half  laughing,  "they 
will  be  gone  before  you  know ! ' '  He  bent  to  put  her 
bag  at  her  feet,  and  as  he  did  so  he  saw  the  weary 
droop  of  her  lips.  "Are  you  so  very  tired?"  he 
asked  with  a  quick  change  in  his  voice  that  made  it 
almost  a  caress.  ' '  I  forget  all  you  have  been  through 
to-day — I  am  a  selfish  brute.  Let  me  take  you  to  the 
office,  and  I  will  say  good-night." 

66 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

She  started  to  rise,  then  dropped  back  into-  her 
chair.  "No,"  she  said,  as  if  answering  a  question 
put  by  herself,  "I  will  stay."  She  looked  up  at  him 
as  he  stood  uncertain,  a  smile  lifting  the  corners  of 
her  mouth.  "I  promise  to  wait  for  you,"  she  said, 
and  Horton  turned  to  go,  looking  back  at  her  as  he 
went.  Some  one  pushed  open  the  side  door  near 
them,  bringing  in  with  him  a  rush  of  damp  air  that 
set  the  palm  leaves  in  motion,  casting  a  wavering 
shadow  on  her  lifted  face.  Horton  was  paying  no  at- 
tention to  his  steps,  and  ran  against  the  man  who  had 
just  entered,  with  a  force  that  brought  the  umbrella 
the  man  was  carrying  to  the  floor. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — "  Horton  exclaimed, 

"I "  He  had  seen  the  other's  face,  and  stopped, 

growing  white  to  the  lips — "You!"  he  said,  clearly. 

"Yes,  I!"  the  other  retorted,  ironically.  "And 
what  of  it?"  He  stood  tall  and  straight,  a  young 
man,  a  little  older  possibly  than  Horton,  but  of  much 
the  same  build.  His  rather  heavy  mouth  smiled  un- 
pleasantly, while  his  eyes  narrowed  into  a  look 
guarded  and  observant,  that  changed  the  entire  ex- 
pression of  his  unusually  handsome  face. 

For  a  moment  they  stared  at  each  other,  from  be- 
neath lowered  brows,  then  Horton  turned  his  back  in 
silence  and  walked  slowly  to  the  office  desk,  while  the 
other  lifted  his  umbrella  from  the  floor  and  went  on 
to  the  elevator.  Horton  stood  and  watched  him  as 

67 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

he  ascended,  his  face  set  and  thoughtful.  He  took 
a  cigar  from  the  box  the  clerk  held  out  to  him,  and 
lighted  it  absently,  going  very  slowly  back  to  the  cor- 
ner he  had  left.  He  was  trying  to  rid  himself  of  a 
disagreeable  sensation,  that  he  might  enjoy  fully  the 
ten  minutes  for  which  he  had  begged.  He  deter- 
minedly forced  it  into  the  background  of  his  thoughts, 
and  as  he  passed  behind  the  screen  of  palms  his  look 
grew  bright  again  with  eagerness. 

The  alcove  was  as  he  had  left  it,  but  her  chair 
was  empty.  He  felt  merely  a  faint  shock  of  surprise 
at  first — she  had  probably  stepped  out  into  the  corri- 
dor. He  came  out  himself,  and  looked  up  and  down. 
The  waiter  had  closed  and  locked  the  dining-room 
doors  while  he  had  been  talking  to  her  a  few  moments 
before.  As  he  stood  at  the  desk  getting  his  cigar  he 
had  commanded  a  view  of  the  elevator  and  the  stair- 
way ;  the  only  person  that  had  gone  up  was  the  man 
he  had  watched.  She  was  not  in  the  corridor — where 
was  she  ?  He  stood  for  a  time  considering,  a  sensation 
of  cold  at  his  finger  tips,  for  a  possibility  had  taken 
form  in  his  mind.  He  walked  to  the  side  door  and 
met  a  bell-boy  hurrying  in  out  of  the  rain. 

"Did  you  see  a  lady  in  black  going  out?"  he 
asked,  in  a  curiously  quiet  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy.  "She  came  out  just  as  the 
bus  drove  off — just  a  minute  ago." 

"Did  she  take  it?" 

68 


The  Lost  Opportunity 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  eying  him  in  surprise. 
"She  walked;  she'll  be  soaked  in  two  minutes — she 
will " 

"Which  way  did  she  go?"  Horton  interrupted, 
shortly. 

"Up  towards  Spring,"  said  the  boy.  Horton 
made  no  reply  but  stepped  out  into  the  rain. 

"Gee  whiz!"  the  boy  ejaculated,  his  surprise  keep- 
ing him  standing  in  the  drip  from  the  roof.  "What's 
up  now — gone  without  his  hat  too!"  and  he  turned 
back  into  the  hotel  to  impart  his  amazement  to  the 
clerk. 


V. 

A  DREAM  AND  A  MEMORY 

IT  was  after  midnight  when  Horton  kicked  his 
soaked  garments  into  a  corner  of  his  room,  and  sought 
his  bed.  His  hands  and  feet  were  numb  and  cold,  but 
there  was  a  wheel  turning  steadily  in  his  brain  that 
wound  and  unwound  his  thoughts  as  a  spooler  would 
cotton.  It  went  on  endlessly,  monotonously,  winding 
and  unwinding,  as  he  lay  on  his  back,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  a  flickering  strip  of  light  on  the  ceiling. 

He  went  over  each  incident  of  the  last  five  days 
with  painstaking  care — only  it  was  more  nearly  five 
months.  He  recalled  every  word,  every  look,  with  the 
accuracy  of  the  partially  intoxicated.  The  unwind- 
ing process  brought  him  down  to  the  moment  when, 
walking  out  of  the  hotel  into  the  rain,  he  had  reached 
the  corner  and  looked  up  and  down  a  drenched  and 
empty  street.  He  remembered  that  he  had  walked  a 
couple  of  blocks  before  it  had  occurred  to  him  with 
sufficient  force  that  a  woman  who  would  of  her  own 
volition  go  out  into  that  deluge,  and  at  that  hour  of 
the  night,  must  have  a  very  strong  desire  to  avoid  a 
man  who  had  endeavored  to  show  her  nothing  but 
respectful  kindness.  It  was  an  insult  to  all  that  was 
best  in  him.  The  thought  had  carried  him  back  to 

70 


A  Dream  and  a  Memory 

the  hotel  again  where  he  braved  the  wide-eyed  curi- 
osity of  the  bell-boy  and  clerk,  and  secured  his  hat 
and  umbrella.  He  had  a  half  block  to  go  to  his  own 
hotel,  and  as  he  splashed  through  the  puddles  in  the 
sidewalk  with  the  recklessness  that  already-soaked 
shoe-leather  inspires,  the  other  explanation  presented 
itself  as  admirably  reasonable  and  supported  by  evi- 
dence. Why  all  the  mystery,  the  evasion,  the  hurried 
journey,  the  obscure  meaning  of  the  gamblers  on  the 
train,  the  charm  of  that  evening  and  its  strange  close  ? 
He  had  been  fairly  mole-eyed  in  his  infatuation,  in  his 
determination  to  delude  himself.  Was  it  beyond  the 
range  of  possibility  that  an  adventuress  should  wear 
a  face  as  pure,  and  eyes  as  clear  as  those  of  the  girl 
of  the  last  few  days  ?  .  .  .  But  this  line  of  thought 
turned  him  sick.  He  was  wet  through  and  shivering, 
for  it  was  not  a  warm  rain  that  the  wind  drove  up 
under  his  umbrella ;  if  he  listened  to  common-sense  he 
would  hasten  to  his  bed,  but  he  would  like  an  antidote 
for  his  unpleasant  reflections  as  well  as  for  the  threat- 
ened cold  of  the  morrow.  His  hotel  was  only  a  few 
yards  away,  and  he  turned  into  the  brilliantly  lighted 
Palace  bar.  He  decided  as  he  lay  awake  through  the 
long  hours,  that  whiskey  was  as  he  had  always  found 
it,  an  exceedingly  poor  comforter.  It  seemed  simply 
to  have  given  edge  and  poignancy  to  his  thoughts,  in- 
stead of  blurring  them.  ...  He  had  thought  that 
morning  when  he  stood  in  the  sand  and  looked  out 

71 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

over  the  desert,  that  if  he  found  a  companion  he 
would  make  a  home  somewhere  in  that  out-of-door 
country,  and  ask  nothing  better  of  fate.  A  few  hours 
later  the  thought  had  crystallized  into  a  determina- 
tion. .  .  .  So  he  was  not  done  with  wandering  about 
yet?  He  would  look  up  the  steamers  for  Japan;  he 
would  do  it  as  soon  as  he  was  up  in  the  morn- 
ing. ...  It  must  be  nearly  morning  now,  and 
the  rain  was  still  coming  down.  .  .  .  What  a  night 
for  a  girl  to  be  out  in.  ... 

Horton  was  waked  about  midday  by  a  knocking  on 
his  door,  and  he  sat  up  gasping,  unable  for  the  moment 
to  decide  where  he  was.  He  had  been  dreaming  that 
he  was  on  the  ocean  with  a  white  glare  of  sunlight 
about  him.  There  was  a  row  of  deck-chairs,  each 
holding  a  muffled  form,  but  it  was  the  last  one  in 
the  corner  that  held  his  attention.  He  paced  back 
and  forth  before  it,  a  hundred  times,  and  feared  to 
go  a  step  nearer.  He  kept  up  his  walk,  never  ceasing, 
for  hours  and  hours — in  time  she  must  uncover  her 
face,  and  he  would  go  nearer.  The  sun  went  down, 
and  the  wind  rose  and  whistled  along  the  deck;  it 
lifted  one  shawl  after  the  other,  and  whirled  them  up 
in  the  air,  carrying  them  out  to  sea — there  was  noth- 
ing under  them.  He  was  seized  with  an  agony  of 
terror  that  gave  him  courage,  and  he  went  to  the 
chair  in  the  corner  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  still 

72 


A  Dream  and  a  Memory 

figure,  and  the  shawl  flattened  beneath  the  pressure 
of  his  hand.  The  wind  sighed  and  moaned  along  the 
deck  and  lifted  it  up  in  turn,  tossed  it  high  and  wide, 
and  flung  it  into  the  sea.  .  .  .  His  eyes  had  opened 
to  the  brilliant  light  of  a  sunny  day,  arid  his  glance 
fell  on  the  huddled  heap  of  garments  in  the  corner; 
the  incidents  of  the  night  before  came  back  to  him  in  a 
flash. 

"Come  in,"  he  called. 

A  bell-boy  opened  the  door  and  stopped,  hesitat- 
ing, when  he  saw  Horton  in  bed.  "A  messenger 
brought  this  over  from  the  Commercial  Bank,  sir," 
he  explained,  holding  out  an  envelope  to  Horton. 
"He  said  it  was  to  be  given  direct  to  you,  so  they 
thought  at  the  office  I  better  bring  it  up." 

' '  From  the  bank, ' '  said  Horton,  frowning.  ' '  They 
don't  lose  any  time."  He  sat  up  and  took  the  en- 
velope. "How  late  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Half  past  eleven,  sir." 

' '  So  late ! — Let  the  window  down  over  there,  will 
you  please.  Is  the  rain  over?" 

"I  guess  so,  sir;  the  sun's  been  out  all  morning." 

"Are  the  trains  going  through  on  the  Coast  line?" 
Horton  asked  next,  with  a  touch  of  eagerness. 

"No,  sir,  they  say  nothing '11  run  to-day." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Horton.  "That's  all."  He 
lay  back,  his  eyes  on  the  open  window.  He  felt  a  de- 
pression so  absolute  that  he  dreaded  the  effort  of  open- 

73 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

ing  the  packet  that  lay  on  the  pillow  beside  him. 
The  thought  of  rising  and  considering  some  sort  of 
plan  for  the  future  was  utterly  distasteful — to  lie 
there  and  review  the  past  was  even  more  intolerable. 
He  lifted  the  envelope  with  a  sigh. 

"This  is  nothing  but  a  village,"  he  muttered,  in 
disgust.  "A  real  estate  village  at  that.  I  no  sooner 
enter  it  than  they  scent  me — I'll  be  damned  if  I  talk 
land  to  them  to-day!."  He  drew  himself  up  on  his 
elbow,  his  eyes  dull,  his  jaw  sullen;  a  vivid  ray  of 
sunlight  stole  up  the  counterpane,  and  reached  his 
head,  turning  his  fair  hair  as  yellow  as  a  child's.  He 
tore  off  the  end  of  the  envelope,  pulling  out  the  folded 
paper  within.  Something  bright  and  heavy  dropped 
from  it  and  lay  on  the  pillow,  and  the  ray  of  sunlight 
touched  it  also,  playing  with  it  till  it  flashed  and 
sparkled ; — it  was  the  silver  pendant  that  he  had  held 
in  his  hand  the  evening  before.  Horton  sat  upright 
with  a  gasp,  and  then  reached  out  and  touched  it  un- 
certainly as  if  it,  too,  might  vanish  like  its  owner, 
but  it  still  lay  sparkling  on  the  pillow,  and  Horton 's 
hand  closed  on  it  and  held  it  tightly.  His  sleeve 
brushed  the  half  unfolded  paper  that  had  been 
wrapped  about  it,  and  he  caught  it  up  eagerly,  unfold- 
ing it  on  his  knee.  It  was  written  upon  in  a  small, 
slanting  hand,  and  Horton 's  eye  leapt  down  the  page 
to  the  signature,  and  came  back  again  to  the  first 
sentence. 

74 


A  Dream  and  a  Memory 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say — there  is  so  little  I  can  say 
to  you,  and  so  much  that  should  be  said.  I  had  determined 
to  remain  an  enigma,  or  what  is  far  worse  for  me  to  bear,  a 
woman  without  a  sense  of  gratitude,  and  surrounded  by 
circumstances  that  place  me  in  an  equivocal  light  to  say  the 
least.  I  cannot  explain  to  you  why  I  am  alone  with  only 
your  bounty  in  my  purse,  or  why  I  have  been  silent  to  you 
about  myself — why  a  man  like  that  creature  on  the  train 
should  think  he  had  the  right  to  address  me,  and  least  of  all 
can  I  give  the  reason  for  my  strange  conduct  to-night. 
I  can  only  say  that  I  am  not  an  adventuress,  or  a  dishonest 
woman;  that  I  hate  double  dealing,  and  evasion,  and  ques- 
tionable conduct,  as  one  only  can  who  has  cause  to  know 
their  inevitable  results,  and  for  all  this  I  can  only  ask  you 
to  take  my  word.  Least  of  all  am  I  ungrateful.  I  think  I 
could  tell  you  some  of  your  thoughts  on  that  four  days' 
journey.  People  who  have  suffered  much,  and  have  been 
forced  to  observe  and  judge  of  those  about  them,  sometimes 
grow  keen  in  the  understanding  of  others.  I  knew  perfectly 
well  the  attention  and  kindness  with  which  you  would  have 
surrounded  me — I  knew  who  it  was  who  gave  up  his  berth 
to  me,  who  it  was  who  punished  that  man  as  he  deserved, 
and  kept  him  from  me,  and  that  it  was  you  and  not  that 
nice,  thoughtless  boy  who  placed  the  fruit  and  cakes  on 
my  seat.  I  was  famished  that  last  day,  and  you  fed  me, 
and  at  last  when  I  was  cast  utterly  on  your  hands,  I  haven't 
words  to  express  the  deference  and  consideration  with  which 
you  treated  me.  No,  I  am  not  ungrateful,  nor  will  I  forget. 

"  Please  do  not  be  anxious  about  me.  I  have  learned 
through  experience  to  take  care  of  myself.  I  am  comfortably 
housed  and  fed,  thanks  to  you,  and  I  shall  not  be  penniless 
in  the  future,  but  I  have  a  request  to  make,  the  last  appeal 
to  your  forbearance — please  do  not  try  to  find  me.  It  would 
bring  real  trouble  upon  me,  and  I  can  give  you  neither 
pleasure  nor  satisfaction.  I  am  positive  and  earnest  in  this — 

75 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

let  me  remain  to  you  an  incident,  one  of  the  many,  perhaps, 
that  have  dropped  out  of  your  recollection. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  always  remain  your  debtor,  save 
in  gratitude,  and  may  I  sign  myself, 

"Your  Friend? 

"  I  send  you  my  little  pin  in  remembrance  of  a  happy 
evening,  for  so  it  was  to  me  in  spite  of  anxiety." 

Horton  read  through  to  the  end  three  separate 
times,  growing  red  then  white.  He  caught  his  lips 
between  his  teeth  to  steady  them,  and  gazed  blankly  at 
the  little  slanting  letters.  "Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear," 
he  whispered,  "why  do  you  make  it  so  hard!"  and 
bending  his  head  he  laid  his  lips  against  the  paper  on 
his  knee. 


BOOK  II 


I. 

A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW 

HORTON  PAYNE  rode  slowly  up  the  long  incline 
of  Cypress  Hill  drawing  rein  occasionally  that  he 
might  turn  in  his  saddle  and  look  about  him.  This 
roundabout  way  over  the  Moneta  foothills  had  become 
his  daily  ride.  His  holiday  had  resolved  itself  into 
long  mornings  in  the  saddle,  riding  up  the  mountain 
trails,  and  afternoons  spent  playing  golf,  but  if  pos- 
sible he  allowed  himself  time  to  take  this  circuitous 
way  to  and  from  his  hotel  and  the  Moneta  Valley 
Country  Club. 

He  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  now,  and  turn- 
ing his  horse  rode  to  the  very  edge  of  the  steep  incline 
in  order  to  look  down  upon  the  valley  and  the  opales- 
cent expanse  of  ocean  beyond.  The  coast  line  bent  in- 
ward here,  a  wide  sweeping  curve,  the  range  of  moun- 
tains with  their  foreground  of  foothills  close  at  hand. 
From  the  outjutting  ridge  of  foothill  upon  which 
Horton  stood  he  commanded  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
stretches  of  valley  below.  In  the  strip  of  valley  that 
crept  up  between  the  foothills  at  his  right,  was  nestled 
the  town  of  Moneta,  a  collection  of  roofs,  topped  by 
tall  palms  and  eucalyptus,  here  and  there  a  more 
ambitious  three-story  brick  building  indicating  the 

79 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

straight  line  of  the  main  street*  The  immense-  hotel 
with  its  brilliant  setting  of  scarlet  geraniums  stood 
boldly  out  to  view,  its  feet  at  the  ocean's  edge,  its 
back  to  the  ridge  of  hills  that  bounded  the  other  side 
of  the  valley.  To  Horton's  left  was  outspread  the 
wide  wooded  slope  of  Moneta  Valley,  running  far  up 
into  the  blue  mountain  canyons.  In  this  second  stretch 
of  valley  were  the  country  homes  of  those  who  made 
a  playground  of  Moneta,  and  their  Country  Club 
clung  to  a  bluff  close  to  the  continued  sound  of  the 
ocean.  Two  miles  of  paved  boulevard,  following  the 
curve  of  the  beach,  connected  Moneta  town  and 
Moneta  Valley,  and  Horton  from  where  he  stood 
could  distinguish  beneath  him  a  speeding  automobile 
or  two,  and  an  occasional  more  slow-going  vehicle. 
On  either  side  of  him  was  the  green  and  brown  of  the 
valley  that  lost  itself  in  the  steeper  slope  of  the  barren 
mountains;  before  him  was  the  wide  world  of  water, 
its  limitless  expanse  broken  only  in  the  distance  by  a 
faint  line  of  islands,  and  above  him  hung  a  dome  of 
cloudless  blue,  a  space  dazzling  and  illimitable.  The 
sun  was  inclining  to  the  sky  line  of  the  ridge  of  hills 
at  the  right,  and  on  the  far  horizon  the  meeting  of  sky 
and  water  was  growing  indistinct  in  the  faint  incom- 
ing fog  of  evening. 

Horton  sat  straight  in  his  saddle,  his  regard  now 
on  one  reach  of  valley,  now  on  the  other,  his  apprecia- 
tion of  the  beautiful  satisfying  itself  fully.  Mingled 

80 


A  Bird's-Eye  View 

with  his  enjoyment  was  a  sense  of  regret  that  a  mere 
prejudice  had  caused  him  to  avoid  so  long  this  most 
exquisite  bit  of  southern  California  coast.  He  had 
lived  for  years  within  easy  reach  of  it,  and  had  de- 
liberately gone  elsewhere  when  the  hot  desert  winds 
at  his  inland  ranch  had  urged  him  to  seek  the  ocean. 
Judging  from  its  reputation  he  had  looked  upon 
Moneta  as  an  imitation  Newport,  and  accordingly 
avoided  it.  Socially  he  had  found  it  true  to  its  repu- 
tation, but  that  was  a  small  annoyance,  lost  sight  of 
in  the  enjoyment  of  the  natural  beauty  about  him. 
It  was  a  trait  that  as  he  grew  older  showed  itself 
even  more  strongly  than  in  his  youth.  Horton  was 
no  longer  the  boy  of  twenty-three  who  lived  as  impulse 
directed,  uncertain  of  his  future,  and  impatient  of 
the  past.  He  was  fifteen  years  older  than  the  youth 
who  had  sat  in  the  brilliant  morning  sunshine  with  a 
girl's  token  of  remembrance  clasped  in  his  hand,  her 
note  of  farewell  outspread  on  his  knee.  He  had 
parted  then  with  what  had  remained  of  his  boyhood, 
and  entered  upon  a  manhood  earnest  enough  in  inten- 
tion and  accomplishment.  Outwardly  he  had  changed 
very  little.  He  was  somewhat  heavier,  and  broader 
in  the  shoulders,  the  lines  about  his  expressive  mouth 
more  marked,  and  the  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his 
eyes  grown  apparent  when  he  smiled,  but  his  eyes 
were  as  clear  and  open,  and  his  hair  as  yellow  still  as 
a  boy's.  He  sat  his  horse  erect,  his  head  held  high, 
6  81 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

a  proud  distinction  of  bearing  that  was  more  marked 
in  the  man  of  thirty-eight  than  it  had  been  in  the 
youth  of  twenty-three. 

He  sat  so  long  without  any  apparent  intention 
of  moving  that  his  horse  grew  restive,  sidling  and 
jerking  at  the  bridle  that  even  in  his  abstraction  Hor- 
ton  held  taut.  He  laughed  a  little  as  he  patted  his 
mare's  neck.  "Tired,  Bess?"  he  said.  "Well  we'll 
go  on."  He  looked  about  him  regretfully,  glancing 
at  the  sinking  sun,  and  then  in  the  direction  of  the 
Country  Club.  He  would  barely  have  time  to  reach 
the  hotel  and  dress  for  the  dinner-dance  at  the  club. 
He  regretted  his  good-natured  acceptance  of  an  invita- 
tion that  would  deprive  him  of  a  view  of  the  sunset, 
and  the  changes  of  color  on  the  water.  He  was  not 
in  the  mood  for  gayety,  and  felt  a  strong  distaste  for 
the  inevitable  chatter  and  noise  of  the  evening.  His 
first  acquaintance  with  Moneta  society  had  amused 
him  somewhat,  but  a  two  weeks'  continuance  of  it 
had  proved  unalluring.  His  dinner  would  be  at  eight 
o'clock  and  it  was  already  almost  six.  He  turned 
down  the  incline  that  would  bring  him  to  level  ground, 
then  taking  the  most  direct  road  to  the  hotel,  urged 
his  horse  to  a  gallop. 


II. 

AFTER  MANY  DAYS 

"  BUT  you  were  not  intended  to  bring  me  out, 
you  know,  Mr.  Payne,"  Elsie  Knight  explained.  "I 
was  just  a  sort  of  last  thought. ' ' 

"A  very  happy  one  for  me,"  Horton  declared, 
with  the  necessary  degree  of  gallantry. 

The  girl  laughed  as  her  bright  eyes  travelled  down 
the  long  dinner-table  with  its  array  of  sparkling  glass 
and  silver,  over  which  the  pink  shaded  lights  cast  a 
warm  glow.  The  room  was  long,  low-ceilinged,  and 
beamed  and  panelled  in  redwood,  the  entire  side  facing 
the  ocean  glazed  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor;  above 
the  chatter  of  many  voices  could  be  heard  the  dull 
boom  of  the  waves  against  the  sea-wall.  "I'm  not 
going  to  say  anything  pretty  in  return  until  after  the 
first  dance,"  she  said,  "and  I  find  out  if  you  are  the 
usual  kind  of  young-old  bachelor  or — well — I'll  tell 
you  then  what  the  other  kind  is  like." 

"But  that  is  so  long  to  wait,"  he  objected.  "I 
know  by  the  collection  of  forks  and  spoons  around 
my  plate  that  we  may  expect  at  least  eight  courses; 
am  I  to  sit  all  that  time  tormented  with  doubt  as  to 
what  your  final  verdict  will  be  ? "  He  smiled  down  at 
her,  a  faint  touch  of  amusement  lighting  his  eyes. 

83 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

She  shrugged  her  already  high  shoulders  until  they 
almost  met  her  small  pink  ears.  "I  am  afraid  you 
are  the  usual  kind — you  begin  just  right." 

"That's  condemning  me  too  early,"  Horton  de- 
clared. "Describe  the  usual  kind  to  me — please  do — 
and  I  shall  endeavor  not  to  resemble  the  description." 

She  laughed  again.  "Well,"  she  said,  "you  rose 
this  morning  about  ten  o'clock — you  were  at  the  club 
last  night  until  one  o'clock  playing  bridge  with 
Richie  Ferrell,  Burke  English,  and  Mr.  Colton — and 
you  went  in  swimming  at  eleven.  Then  you  took  a 
horseback  ride  at  twelve — a  short  one — took  lunch  at 
the  club — decided  to  golf  not  bridge — came  out  here 
to  the  Country  Club  and  drank  two  or  three  highballs 
before,  one  or  two  during  and  after,  and  got  back  to 
the  hotel  just  in  time  to  dress.  Then  you  motored 
back  here  with  the  McKelveys,  or  the  Sarks,  or  the 
Littons,  and  had  a  cocktail — or  two — and  stayed  with 
the  cocktail  and  Burke  and  Richie  and  the  rest  until 
the  very  last  minute  so  as  not  to  be  bothered  by 
having  to  talk  to  the  women.  Then  you  had  your 
dinner  partner's  name  handed  to  you,  and  you  bowed 
very  nicely  over  my  hand  because  you  happen  to  be  a 
stranger,  and  had  never  met  me  before.  If  you  had 
been  Burke,  you  would  have  said,  '  So,  Elsie,  we  go  in 
together  do  we — who  in  the  name  of  conscience  are  we 
waiting  for  now?  I'm  hungry.'  Then  again — if  you 
were  Burke — you  would  talk  about  nothing  in  par- 

84 


After  Many  Days 

ticular  during  dinner  and  stare  at  one  of  the  new 
divorcees,  and  when  it  came  to  the  first  dance,  you 
would  disappear  for  a  smoke  with  the  rest  and  only 
turn  up  in  time  to  take  one  turn  about  the  room — 
or  not  appear  at  all — you  wouldn't  have  heard  the 
music,  you  know." 

Horton  laughed.  "What  a  wonderfully  accurate 
description!  But  I  plead  not  guilty  to  the  better 
part  of  all  that.  I  was  too  anxious  to  see  this  valley 
before  sunrise  from  above  the  Mountain  Drive,  for 
me  to  risk  an  all-night  session  at  the  club.  And  the 
highballs,  too — I  'm  not  guilty ;  it  spoils  a  good  game, 
you  see.  But  you  must  have  a  brother?" 

"Yes,  there  he  is,  four  places  down  on  the  other 
side.  ...  I  was  born  here  too!"  She  flashed  a 
mischievous  look  at  him,  sidewise.  "I  know  every- 
body's history,  everybody  that  has  always  lived  here, 
and  a  whole  lot  about  every  one  that  hasn't." 

"Really I"  he  said.  "I  am  divided  between  terror 
and  curiosity.  First  of  all,  what  are  the  things  you 
have  learned  about  me  ?  I  have  been  here  two  weeks. ' ' 

She  pursed  her  small  mouth,  lifting  her  chin 
saucily.  "Well,  first  of  all,  you  are  a  bachelor  and 
very  well  off,  consequently  much  in  demand — 
a  wealthy  unattached  is  as  rare  a  joy  as  a  rain  in 
August.  Next  you  come  of  a  good  family,  vouched  for 
by  the  Toots,  so  you  travel  with  the  only  set — though 
the  family  is  not  necessary  at  all — the  money  is  quite 

85 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

enough.  Then,  incidentally,  you  are — "  she  stole  a 
look  at  him  again — "fair  looking  and — but  that's 
enough. ' ' 

His  lip  lifted  slightly.  "I  gather  from  all  that 
that  my  bank  account  is  somewhat  exaggerated. ' ' 

"You're  an  orange  king  aren't  you?"  she  asked, 
laughing  slyly  at  his  expression. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,"  he  declared,  smiling  at 
her  again.  "What  does  that  mean?  I  saw  it  in  the 
hotel  personals  as  applied  to  me." 

"Why  you  have  a  million  or  so  acres  in  oranges, 
you  own  a  packing-house,  a  town,  and — and  I  don't 
remember  the  rest ?" 

"It  is  just  as  well,"  he  remarked,  a  trifle  shortly, 
and  then  he  laughed  at  her  teasing  attitude.  "I 
am  not  going  to  ask  you  any  more  about  myself — I 
think  I  prefer  to  hear  about  other  people." 

' '  Do  you  ?    Well  then,  do  you  like  it  here  ? ' ' 

"I  think  it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places 
I  have  ever  been  in." 

"But  socially?"  she  insisted. 

"I  don't  know  it  socially,"  he  said.  "I  know  the 
Toots,  they  were  steamer  acquaintances  of  mine;  I 
met  them  years  ago,  and  found  that  they  knew  my 
family.  They  have  introduced  me  to  the  clubs  and 
some  of  the  people  here — they  have  been  very  kind — 
but  I  am  not  particularly  fond  of  this  sort  of  thing. 
I  live  pretty  quietly,  usually,  at  my  ranch." 

86 


After  Many  Days 

"We're  not  just  your  kind,  I  fancy,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  touch  of  seriousness.  ' '  You  see  we  repre- 
sent the  first  generation  of  staples,  that 's  the  trouble. ' ' 
She  raised  her  fork  slightly  from  her  plate,  surrep- 
titiously pointing  with  it.  ' '  Just  across  the  way  with 
three  double  chins  is  flour;  four  down,  sugar,  and 
around  the  end  of  the  table,  with  his  neck  rolling  over 
his  collar,  is  beef  and  pork;  then  four  below  me, 
petroleum,  and  four  beyond  you,  fertilizer.  They're 
all  kings — that  is  they  are  out  here — they  wouldn't 
even  be  dukes  in  New  York,  so  they  prefer  the  Pacific 
Coast.  Oh,  then  just  add  a  sprinkling  of  the  younger 
ones  who  are  forgetting  that  they  run  their  auto- 
mobiles on  Papa's  oil  or  lard  or  flour,  and  just  a  few 
who  don't  belong  to  royalty  at  all,  but  do  know  some- 
thing about  their  great  grandfathers,  and  you  have  us 
complete." 

"Not  quite,  I  hope,"  Horton  said. 

"Oh,  well,  there  are  a  few  exceptions,"  Miss 
Knight  admitted,  "but  they  don't  count  at  all — they 
are  not  society.  There  are  only  two  classes  here  in 
Moneta  Valley,  society  and — nothing." 

"You  should  know." 

"I  do.  It  is  pretty  much  the  same  everywhere 
out  here,  but  this  is  the  worst  of  all.  Still,  you  ought 
to  know,  you  have  lived  in  California  for  years* — in 
the  orange  region — haven't  you?" 

"Yes,"  Horton  answered,  "and  I  think  you  are 

87 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

too  sweeping  in  your  statement.  This  is  not  typical. 
The  trouble  here  is  idleness — mostly.  There  is  not  a 
busier  State  in  the  Union  than  ours,  and  in  a  com- 
munity where  people  are  busy  this  sort  of  thing  does 
not  thrive,  no  matter  how  much  wealth  there  is.  I 
come  from  a  region  where  the  day  is  not  long  enough 
for  all  we  want  to  accomplish,  and  our  social  atmos- 
phere is  normal.  Such  a  condition  is  typical  of  Cali- 
fornia. It  is  unfair  for  others  to  judge  us,  or  for  us 
to  judge  ourselves  by  the  antics  of  a  few  millionaires 
who  come  to  a  smiling  climate  to  play  about  for  a 
season.  They  collect  here  in  your  valley,  a  certain 
class  do,  for  there  is  everything  to  tempt  them,  but 
one  only  needs  to  walk  through  your  naturally  beauti- 
ful little  town  over  there  beyond  the  boulevard,  to 
realize  that  in  spite  of  the  money  they  are  supposed 
to  bring  into  the  place,  they  actually  sit  as  an  incubus 
on  its  progress,  because  the  atmosphere  they  create 
kills  anything  like  public  spirit.  Excuse  my  criti- 
cisms, please,  but  I  think  it  is  hardly  fair  to  judge  a 
whole  body  by  an  excrescence  or  two. "  Horton  spoke 
with  some  warmth. 

Miss  Knight  shrugged  impatiently.  "I  haven't 
made  a  study  of  the  subject,"  she  said,  "but  I  know 
this  place  well  enough ;  the  good  Spanish  should  have 
had  a  premonition  and  called  it  Santa  Moneda.  I 
am  a  good  deal  more  interested,  however,  in  the  things 
I  don't  know — have  you  really  all  the  miles  of  oranges 

88 


After  Many  Days 

they  say  you  have — and  a  packing-house,  and  the 

rest ?"  Her  manner  was  frankly  curious,  and 

Horton  looked  amused. 

"It  is  a  gross  exaggeration,"  he  assured  her. 

"The  Toots  say  it's  so,"  she  contended. 

"Do  they,"  he  said,  indifferently,  and  then  his 
very  pleasant  blue  eyes  twinkled  as  he  added,  "but 
if  you  are  really  so  much  interested  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  give  you  more  accurate  information  to  add 
to  your  store." 

' ' Oh,  would  you, ' '  she  exclaimed,  unabashed.  "Of 
course  I  am  interested.  Can  I  go  on  asking  ques- 
tions?" 

' '  Yes,  surely.  There  may  be  some  I  shall  not  care 
to  answer,  but  I  reserve  the  right." 

' '  Well  then,  are  you  really  worth  several  millions  ? 
And  are  you  going  to  buy  Mira  Alta,  and  bring  a 
bride  here  to  Moneta  Valley  and  spend  most  of  your 
time  here?  Then  this  you  needn't  answer  because 
it's  rude — how  old  are  you?" 

Horton  laughed  out  at  her  string  of  eager  questions. 
"I  cease  to  wonder  at  your  fund  of  information,"  he 
said, ' '  and  I  will  answer  all  your  questions — and  more, 
so  that  after  this  you  may  speak  with  authority.  To 
begin  with  I  am  a  native  Californian  like  yourself — 
I  was  born  in  Los  Angeles,  and  spent  my  early  boy- 
hood there.  My  family  went  back  to  New  York  then, 
and  I  went  to  school  in  the  east.  "When  I  was  twenty, 

89 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

as  I  had  no  one  then  to  dictate  to  me,  I  travelled  about 
wherever  the  fancy  took  me  for  three  years,  and  finally 
came  back  to  California  and  settled  down  in  the  orange 
region  where  for  years  I  have  lived  as  a  respectable, 
law-abiding  citizen.  In  spite  of  the  Toots  and  the 
hotel  personals  I  assure  you  that  I  am  not  worth  even 
one  million,  I  have  no  idea  of  buying  an  estate  like 
Mira  Alta  and  living  an  idle  life,  and  I  shall  stay 
here  only  until  I  feel  that  I  must  go  back  to  my  ranch, 
which  by  the  way  is  only  a  two  hours'  journey  from 
Los  Angeles.  Then  I  will  truthfully  add  that  I  am 
just  thirty-eight  years  old,  and  that  I  have  not  the 
faintest  idea  of  marrying  anybody  at  all.  Was  there 
anything  more  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quickly,  "who  do  you  think  is  the 
prettiest  woman  you  have  met  here?  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Peek?" 

Horton  gave  her  so  steady  a  look  that  in  spite  of 
her  sang-froid  the  color  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  he 
continued  to  look  at  her  until  she  dropped  her  eyes. 
More  than  once  before  he  had  found  it  an  effective 
method  of  expressing  degrees  of  admiration  without 
committing  himself  by  words. 

"She  is  the  beauty  here — she  and  Miss  Talworth," 
the  girl  explained,  a  little  hastily. 

"Are  they  here  to-night?"  he  asked,  with  no  ap- 
pearance of  interest.  '"I  have  met  Mrs.  Peek." 

' '  She  is  right  down  our  row,  looking  this  way  now. 

90 


After  Many  Days 

She  has  tried  several  times  to  speak  to  you."  She 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  while  Horton  bent  forward, 
smiling  and  bowing  in  answer  to  the  gracious  glance 
of  a  handsome  woman  several  seats  further  along. 
She  was  dark-eyed  and  red-lipped,  with  a  waxen  skin 
and  beautiful  shoulders,  but  Horton 's  eyes  left  her, 
and  he  continued  to  lean  forward,  looking  down  the 
length  of  the  table. 

"Who  is  the  little  slight  woman  beside  our  host?" 
he  inquired. 

' '  The  skinny  woman  with  a  laugh  like  a  bass-viol  ? 
That  is  Mrs.  Totten.  This  dinner  is  given  for  her — 
didn't  you  know?  She  talks  like  a  Kentucky  jockey, 
always  wins  at  bridge,  is,  according  to  her  own  state- 
ment, '  a  dead  game  sport, '  and  has  three  of  the  pret- 
tiest little  children  you  ever  saw." 

"Ah,"  Horton  said,  his  lips  twitching  slightly, 
"and  the  short  woman,  two  this  way,  with  the  Irish 
eyes  and  crooked  mouth — I  have  seen  her  before 
somewhere." 

Miss  Knight  laughed.  ' '  That  is  Mrs.  Quakenboss. 
Her  husband  feels  the  pulse  of  the  millionaires,  and 
gets  along  very  nicely,  and  she  gives  birthday  rings 
to  their  babies,  and  dinner  parties  to  those  who  are 
worth  while.  She  is  terribly  energetic.  She  keeps 
a  watchful  eye  on  poor  Quakenboss,  and  there  is  never 
a  feminine  frailty  that  escapes  her  attention.  She  is 
so  keen  she  even  scents  them  before  they  exist." 

91 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Miss  Knight's  brilliant  eyes  danced.  "She  is  in- 
valuable to  us,"  she  declared. 

Horton  laughed  a  little.  "And  the  tall,  light- 
haired  woman  this  way  ?  I  was  watching  her  to-day ; 
she  swims  well." 

"Oh,  she's  one  of  our  divorcees." 

"Really!    You  speak  as  if  they  were  numerous." 

"They  are.  There  are  four  here  to-night.  To  have 
a  really  gay  time  here,  one  must  either  be  a  divorcee, 
or  pose  as  being  expectant  of  becoming  one.  There 
are  eight  divorcees  here  to-night  that  have  married 
again,  beginning  with  our  hostess ;  that  with  the  four 
that  are  still  at  large,  makes  twelve — twelve  out  of 
twenty-four — there  are  just  twenty-four  couples  here ; 
a  good  showing  isn't  it?"  Her  manner  was  half 
scornful,  half  flippant.  "A  poor  creature  like  myself 
with  no  past  has  awfully  little  chance  of  a  future ! ' ' 

Horton  avoided  making  a  reply;  his  companion's 
remarks  only  served  to  accentuate  his  feeling  of  dis- 
taste. He  thoughtfully  scanned  the  long  dinner-table ; 
it  was  a  very  typical  collection  of  men  and  women 
who  from  natural  inclination,  and  in  most  cases  as  the 
result  of  plethoric  purses,  had  come  together  to  form 
a  set  described  by  the  usual  "smart,"  "fast,"  and  like 
adjectives.  They  had  gathered  in  this  Pacific  New- 
port, building  for  themselves  expensive  homes,  choos- 
ing for  their  estates  the  loveliest  spots  in  the  most 
beautiful  of  valleys,  the  blue  of  the  nearby  mountains 

92 


After  Many  Days 

as  a  background,  the  smiling  Pacific  at  their  feet. 
Horton  was  a  good  listener,  and  an  intelligent  ob- 
server, and  he  had  spent  his  two  idle  weeks  to  some 
purpose.  He  had  found  the  ideals  and  standards  of  the 
other  idle  men  about  him  more  than  usually  unattrac- 
tive and  their  round  of  pleasures  unintelligent  cer- 
tainly. He  smiled  slightly  as  he  contemplated  the 
women.  The  remarks  of  his  companion  were  not  so 
aside  from  the  mark.  Taken  as  a  whole  they  ran  a 
close  second  to  the  men.  Horton  reflected  that  in 
fourteen  days'  time  he  had  heard  more  scandal  hinted 
or  plainly  spoken  than  during  any  previous  fourteen 
months  of  his  life ;  the  very  air  was  redolent  of  it.  It 
persisted  in  tainting  the  salty  sweet  breath  of  the 
ocean,  and  coloring  the  green  and  brown  of  the  undu- 
lating valley,  even  following  one  up  the  mountain 
trails,  for  guide  and  chance  companion  do  not  always 
have  the  gift  of  silence.  Horton  had  had  too  eventful 
a  life  to  look  anything  but  leniently  on  human  frail- 
ties— he  had  too  many  shortcomings  of  his  own  to  de- 
plore— but  the  purely  fastidious  in  him  revolted  from 
inane  vulgarity  of  the  sort  that  a  fat  purse  and  the 
lack  of  moral  responsibility  begets.  This  was  the 
second  dinner-dance  at  which  he  had  been  a  guest, 
and  he  vowed  to  himself  that  it  would  be  his  last. 
It  had  the  usual  characteristics  of  unlimited  cham- 
pagne, unintelligent  conversation,  and  a  country  club 
menu  varied  by  importations  from  two  cities.  He 

93 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

was  glad  that  the  girl  at  his  side  expected  but  scant 
attention ;  he  would  be  off  at  the  first  opportunity  and 
take  his  time  along  the  moon-lit  boulevard,  with  only 
the  misty  lap  of  the  water  to  break  the  silence. 

Miss  Knight  was  busied  with  the  heavy-faced, 
flushed  youth  at  her  right,  and  Horton  remembering 
that  he  had  met  his  left-hand  neighbor  earlier  in  the 
evening,  turned  toward  her.  He  even  remembered 
that  her  name  was  Mrs.  Conte.  She  had  struck  him 
as  very  pretty,  by  far  the  freshest  and  most  natural 
looking  woman  at  the  table,  and  he  felt  a  sense  of 
relief  as  she  smiled  at  him  from  under  her  lashes. 
The  very  pink  and  rotund  young  man  who  had 
brought  her  out  had  so  far  seemingly  absorbed  her 
attention,  a  conversation  low-toned  and  earnest. 

Horton  made  a  brave  effort  at  conversation  with  his 
neighbor,  and  he  was  the  recipient  of  many  soft  smiles, 
well  championed  by  glances  from  her  dark-lashed  eyes, 
but  real  stupidity  palls  even  with  such  accompani- 
ments, and  Horton  decided  that  for  an  hour  and  a 
half's  sitting  he  would  prefer  Mrs.  Peek's  exotic 
graces,  or  Miss  Knight's  acidity,  and  even  Mrs.  Tot- 
ten's  basso  prof  undo.  That  lady  punctuated  the 
numerous  courses  by  smoking  a  cigarette,  throwing 
back  her  head  and  puffing  the  smoke  toward  the  ceil- 
ing, her  thin  neck  stretched  to  its  utmost  capacity, 
like  an  Italian  of  the  slums  swallowing  macaroni.  It 
was  not  exactly  a  pretty  manoeuvre,  but  quite 

94 


After  Many  Days 

"sporty,"  and  consequently  interesting.  Horton 
glanced  at  his  hostess,  who  was  also  smoking,  a  cigar- 
ette caught  tightly  in  one  corner  of  her  mouth,  the 
other  open  to  conversation,  her  cold  blue  eye  glancing 
down  the  table.  It  was  a  sudden  change  in  her  ex- 
pression that  drew  Horton 's  attention  to  the  seat  at 
the  left  of  his  host.  It  had  been  empty  so  far,  but 
some  one  had  slipped  in  and  taken  it.  When  Horton 
looked,  the  new-comer  was  seating  herself,  bending  and 
turned  toward  her  host,  and  he  had  a  view  of  a  crown 
of  dark  hair,  that  as  the  light  of  the  candelabra 
touched  it,  glinted  like  bronze.  He  felt  a  sudden 
clutch  at  his  throat  that  stopped  his  breath,  and  then 
he  sat  quite  still,,  his  eyes  dilated,  his  tanned  cheek 
gray.  She  had  raised  her  head  and  was  sitting  up- 
right now,  bowing  and  smiling  slightly  in  answer  to 
the  greetings  of  those  about  her.  Her  large  gray  eyes 
travelled  slowly  toward  Horton  and  he  knew  that  the 
next  moment  they  would  reach  him,  and  he  would  be 
absolutely  incapable  of  either  sign  or  movement. 
Then  Miss  Knight  leaned  over  to  speak  to  his  left- 
hand  neighbor,  and  shut  off  the  slowly  moving  eyes 
from  his  fascinated  gaze. 

"Do  you  see  she  has  come,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Conte  rejoined,  with  more  animation 
than  Horton  had  been  able  to  arouse  in  her,  ' '  and  did 
you  see  Alma  Toot's  face?" 

"Mad,  yes,"  Miss  Knight  said,  scornfully,  "but 
95 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

she  never  stays  angry  with  money  very  long — and 
Richie  says  it  really  was  a  breakdown." 

"Well  what  was  she  out  automobiling  just  at 
dinner  time  for?"  Mrs.  Conte  asked. 

"Why  she  had  forgotten  the  dinner,  of  course," 
Miss  Knight  said,  impatiently,  "but  there  was  a  break- 
down too — just  happened  to  be,  so  she  had  a  good 
excuse.  .  .  .  We  are  talking  about  Miss  Talworth, ' ' 
Elsie  Knight  explained,  including  Horton  now  in  the 
conversation.  "She  just  came  in — down  there  by  Mr. 
Toot.  It  was  she  who  kept  dinner  waiting.  She  has 
a  way  of  forgetting  things  like  that  unless  Mrs. 
Silence  looks  after  it — by  the  way  it  was  Kate  Tal- 
worth you  were  to  bring  out  not  me."  Horton 's 
eyes  were  on  his  plate  and  he  made  some  indistinct 
reply.  The  light  in  the  room  was  glaring,  and  be- 
neath his  dazed  eyes  the  white  cloth  of  the  table  with 
its  sparkle  of  glass  and  silver,  lifted  and  swayed.  Miss 
Knight  looked  at  his  set  face  in  surprise,  but  Mr. 
Ferrell  claimed  her  attention. 

"Look  at  Burke!"  he  chuckled.  "He  has  sat  in 
the  dumps  all  evening — now  behold  the  difference! 
April  sunshine  isn't  in  it!"  To  Horton  the  words 
came  distinctly.  He  was  gaining  hold  on  his  reeling 
faculties  by  the  strongest  exertion  of  will  possible  to 
him  in  those  dizzy  moments.  He  began  to  wonder 
vaguely  if  he  had  been  about  to  faint.  Mrs.  Conte, 
like  Miss  Knight,  was  occupied  by  her  other  neighbor, 
and  Horton  was  given  time.  The  color  gradually 

96 


After  Many  Days 

came  back  to  his  face  until  he  flushed  to  scarlet,  and 
his  eyes  grew  brilliant.  He  looked  like  a  man  who 
had  repeatedly  emptied  the  sparkling  glass  before 
him,  but  Miss  Knight  was  observant  and  she  had 
noticed  that  he  had  scarcely  touched  his  wine.  She 
hastened  to  bring  her  attention  back  to  him,  but  by 
that  time  he  was  prepared  for  her.  Her  methods 
were  usually  direct  ones. 

' '  What  was  the  matter  ? "  she  asked.    ' '  You  looked 

ghastly  a  minute  ago  and  now "     She  eyed  him 

keenly. 

"Did  I?"  he  said.  "I  am  tired  of  sitting  still— 
do  you  hear  that  two-step  in  there,  Miss  Knight? 
How  much  more  eatables  do  we  have  to  have  ? ' ' 

"Salad,  ice  cream,  and  coffee,"  she  said,  looking 
surprised.  "Why,  do  you  like  to  dance  so  much?" 

"I  don't  like  to  sit  still  when  my  feet  have  the 
nervous  fidgets  as  they  have  now.  I  should  like  to 
dance  that  thing  in  there  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
the  next,  and  the  next  after  that,"  he  had  flung  his 
arm  over  the  back  of  his  chair  and  drawn  himself  up, 
looking  down  at  her.  His  sunburnt  skin  was  still 
flushed,  his  large  mouth  twitching  in  a  smile,  and  his 
eyes  under  their  straight  brows  were  as  blue  as  the 
June  sky  at  midday.  He  looked  ten  years  younger 
than  the  quiet,  courteous  man  of  the  earlier  evening. 
He  lifted  his  head  impatiently,  and  a  lock  of  his  fair 
hair  fell  across  his  forehead.  The  network  of  wrinkles 
at  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  that  lent  to  them  their 
7  VI. 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

look  of  experience,  were  smoothed  away;  there  was 
something  joyous  and  boyish  in  his  whole  attitude,  and 
the  girl  felt  its  charm  instantly. 

"Is  that  the  effect  music  has  on  you?"  she  said, 
the  tight  lines  about  her  mouth  relaxing.  "The  rest 
of  them  here  don 't  care  to  dance  until  after  midnight 
— the  room  doesn't  appear  to  be  stationary  by  that 
time,  so  it  doesn't  matter — but  you  are  not  a  young- 
old  bachelor!" 

"But  I  am  ordinarily — what  is  going  on  at  our 
host 's  end  of  the  table  ? ' ' 

"Oh  Burke  is  going  to  sing."  The  lines  came 
back  to  her  mouth,  and  the  acidity  to  her  tones. 
"He  has  found  his  voice  now  that  Miss  Talworth 
has  appeared." 

"That  is  the  handsome  girl  who  just  came  in?  Is 
he  interested — you  mean  he  is  engaged  to  her?" 

"He  would  like  to  be,"  she  said,  sharply,  "but 
she's  not  a  girl — she  is  over  thirty." 

"I  stand  corrected,"  Horton  said,  with  some  of 
his  usual  manner.  ' '  Does  she  live  here  ? ' ' 

"Yes — that  is  part  of  the  time — nobody  who  has 
a  million  or  so  stays  here  all  the  time.  Though  we  're 
rapid  we're  monotonous."  Her  air  was  scornful. 

Horton 's  eyes  narrowed  slightly.  "You  mean  that 
she  is  like  the  rest  here — that  this  is  her  set?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  grudgingly,  "she  is  different — 
really — but  she  is  rich  like  them." 

98 


After  Many  Days 

Horton  smiled  again.  "Perhaps  her  millions  are 
like  mine,  a  matter  of  the  imagination?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Knight,  soberly,  "she  is  really 
rich.  She  came  here,  it  must  have  been  nearly  fifteen 
years  ago,  with  old  Talworth,  her  uncle,  and  that's 
how  I  know  about  her  age.  She  looked  almost  the 
same  then  as  she  does  now.  The  old  man  was  an  inva- 
lid, half  paralyzed,  and  she  took  care  of  him.  He 
was  an  awful  old  thing,  cross  and  crabbed  as  an  old 
bear,  and  she  never  went  anywhere,  or  saw  anybody — 
just  waited  on  him.  He  would  be  here  for  a  short 
time  and  then  off  to  some  sanatorium  for  the  rest  of 
the  year;  she  must  have  had  a  life  of  it.  Father,  I 
know,  used  to  say  that  Mr.  Talworth  was  a  wonder- 
fully clever  old  man,  and  crippled  as  he  was,  he 
looked  after  his  money  interests  entirely  himself.  He 
got  some  of  the  best  oil  lands  in  the  State  into  his 
hands,  and  when  he  died  he  left  it  all  to  her.  I  used 
to  see  them  out  driving  together — she  so  pretty,  and 
he  so  yellow  and  wrinkled;  they  came  for  a  little 
while  year  after  year.  I  used  to  feel  sorry  for  her — 
every  one  did." 

"It  couldn't  have  been  a  pleasant  life — how  long 
ago  did  Mr.  Talworth  die?"  Horton  asked. 

"About  four  years  ago.  He  died  here,  and  every 
one  said  she  would  go  away,  but  she  didn't.  She 
really  seems  to  love  the  place.  She  built  a  beautiful 
bungalow,  right  down  by  the  ocean — quite  near  the 

99 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

club  here,  and  Mrs.  Silence  lives  with  her.  Mrs. 
Silence  has  been  coming  here  ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber ;  her  home  is  in  Los  Angeles  and  everybody  knows 
her.  It  was  after  they  became  friends  that  Kate 
Talworth  began  to  go  out  here.  People  have  made  a 
lot  of  fuss  over  her,  but  I  don't  believe  she  cares  a 
penny  about  them.  I  often  think  that  the  reason 
every  one  here  seems  to  think  so  highly  of  her  is  that 
she  never  thinks  about  them  at  all.  Once  in  a  long 
while  she  gives  something  that's  a  little  bit  nicer  and 
more  expensive  than  any  one  else,  and  the  rest  of  the 
time  she  does  as  she  likes.  Mrs.  Silence  is  very  fond 
of  society,  and  she  insists  on  Kate  Talworth 's  going 
out  a  good  deal  too ;  but  she  would  rather  ride  horse- 
back and  just  work  in  her  garden,  I  think,  than  do 
anything  else.  She  has  a  beautiful  garden  on  the 
side  of  the  house  that  is  away  from  the  ocean." 

"She  appears  an  interesting  character — but  she 
has  never  married?" 

Miss  Knight  flashed  him  a  sidelong  look  from  her 
brilliant  eyes.  Then  she  pursed  her  lips,  her  air 
judicial.  "I  suppose  she  will  marry  some  day  and 
surprise  every  one.  They  say  that  Richard  Allison, 
Mrs.  Silence's  nephew,  is  devoted  to  her,  but  I  fancy 
taking  care  of  that  old  man  cured  her  of  thinking 
of  marrying — he  was  a  terror ! ' ' 

"But  surely  she  has  had  many  opportunities," 
Horton  insisted.  "Mr.  English  for  instance." 

100 


After  Many  Days 

Miss  Knight  flushed,  and  then  she  gave  her  exag- 
gerated shrug.  "  Burke 's  poses  interest  us,  they  are 
so  original.  He  despises  women,  you  know — says  they 
are  all  immoral  by  instinct,  and  nice  things  like 
that,  but  he  would  like  to  succeed  in  this  case."  The 
gleam  appeared  in  her  eyes  again — "However,  he 
would  not  be  difficult  to  distance  for  he  hasn't  even 
made  a  start." 

Horton's  flush  deepened  and  his  lip  lifted,  but  he 
did  not  trouble  to  answer  her.  His  attention  had  ap- 
parently been  hers,  his  ears  took  in  the  sense  of  her 
remarks,  but  his  thoughts  were  with  the  information 
she  had  rather  ostentatiously  given  him,  and  his  most 
urgent  desire  was  to  look  again  toward  his  host's  end 
of  the  table.  In  a  few  moments  it  would  be  too  strong 
for  him,  and  he  doubted  if  he  had  the  power  to  control 
his  expression. 

"Burke  sings  for  us  now,"  Miss  Knight  remarked, 
' '  and  next  we  will  have  a  speech  welcoming  dear  Mrs. 
Totten,  and  then  we  can  go  in  and  dance."  Horton 
did  not  hear  her  any  more  than  he  heard  Mr.  English 's 
mixed  tenor  harping  on  the  delights  of  "Marlebay." 
He  could  restrain  his  desire  no  longer,  and  had  sought 
her  face. 

Kate  Talworth  was  leaning  bacK  in  her  chair,  her 
eyes  lowered,  and  Horton  studied  every  line  and  soft 
curve.  She  looked  much  the  same  as  the  girl  who 
almost  fifteen  years  before  had  smiled  at  him  from 

101 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

her  seat  in  the  palm-hidden  corner.  The  pallor  and 
look  of  weariness  was  gone,  and  her  face  was  fuller, 
the  warm  tint  of  health  in  her  cheeks.  As  he  gazed 
he  realized  that  she  did  look  older,  but  not  by  fifteen 
years,  nor  half  that  number.  She  was  wearing  black 
with  a  touch  of  jet,  and  her  neck  and  shoulders  looked 
snowy  white  in  contrast.  It  was  her  full  throat,  and 
the  lines  of  shoulder  and  bust  that  suggested  maturity 
far  more  than  her  face.  Hers  was  not  a  type  that 
would  show  age  easily. 

Horton  gazed  long  and  fixedly,  and  had  his  com- 
panion not  been  busied  with  reflections  of  her  own  as 
she  half -scornfully  listened  to  Mr.  English,  his  com- 
plete absorption  would  not  have  escaped  her.  It  was 
only  when  his  scrutiny  had  lasted  so  long  that  Miss 
Talworth's  attitude  suggested  a  consciousness  of  it, 
that  he  looked  away  into  the  brightly-lighted  ball- 
room. Would  the  interminable  dinner  never  reach 
a  conclusion? 

When  at  last  they  filed  out  into  the  next  room, 
Horton  promptly  forsook  his  companion,  taking  a  posi- 
tion near  his  hostess.  He  had  determined  that  he 
would  seek  an  introduction.  Miss  Talworth  was  one 
of  the  last  to  leave  the  dining-room,  and  she  came  in 
with  Mr.  Toot,  going  directly  to  the  hostess.  Horton 
gathered  from  Mrs.  Toot's  rather  loud-voiced  remarks 
that  she  was  accepting  an  apology  for  an  unavoidable 
delay,  but  Kate  Talworth 's  soft,  deliberate  tones  were 
lost  in  the  chatter  about  her.  Horton  waited  a  few 

102 


After  Many  Days 

moments  and  joined  the  group.  Kate  Talworth  had 
not  moved  away,  and  whether  intentionally  or  not, 
her  regard  was  fixed  on  the  corner  occupied  by  the 
musicians,  but  at  Mrs.  Toot's,  "Oh,  haven't  you  met 
Miss  Talworth  yet?"  she  turned  deliberately  and 
looked  at  him.  He  extended  his  hand,  and  she  gave 
him  hers.  Her  manner  was  calm,  her  look  collected, 
but  the  light  in  Horton's  eyes  and  the  lines  about  his 
expressive  mouth  were  too  patent  for  the  gaze  of  the 
curious.  He  was  beyond  the  power  of  speech,  and 
Kate  Talworth  drew  aside  a  little,  her  touch  on  his 
arm. 

' '  Shall  we  go  to  the  porch — it  is  so  much  cooler  ? ' ' 
she  asked  in  a  low  voice.  Horton  followed  her  out  in 
silence,  and  the  fresh,  cool  breath  of  the  ocean  touched 
his  burning  face.  There  were  other  couples  strolling 
about,  and  they  walked  to  the  very  end  of  the  long 
piazza  into  the  shadow  of  the  huge  La  Marque  that 
covered  that  corner. 

Then  Horton  stopped  and  took  both  her  hands. 
"After  all  these  years—"  he  said,  "ah,  my  God!" 
He  bent  and  kissed  them,  not  once,  but  many  times. 
It  was  a  whisper  from  a  heart  too  full  for  many 
words;  the  insistence  of  passion  might  follow  later, 
but  in  those  few  moments  there  was  place  only  for  that 
cry  of  a  great  longing  satisfied. 

The  woman's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  her  lips  trem- 
bling, and  in  very  pity  she  left  her  hands  in  his.  The 
soft  throb  of  music  reached  them  in  their  far  corner, 

103 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

and  the  restless  beat  of  the  ocean,  nearer  and  louder, 
smothered  his  words.  "I  have  found  you  again," 
he  said.  "Kate,  I  bore  it  as  long  as  I  could,  and  then 
I  searched  for  you,  but  I  couldn't  find  you — and  now 

by  a  chance "  His  voice  had  dropped,  and  he 

moved  to  draw  her  to  him,  but  she  took  her  hands 
from  his  clasp  with  an  air  of  decision  that  brought 
him  to  a  realization  of  his  surroundings. 

"We  cannot  talk  here,"  she  said.  "You  forget." 
She  had  stepped  back  into  the  light,  and  as  Horton 
looked  down  into  her  face  he  could  see  her  troubled 
look.  The  quiver  of  distress  in  her  voice  made  her 
words  uncertain.  ' '  I — we — cannot  talk  now, ' '  she  re- 
peated. "Mr.  Payne,  I  am  sorry — I  wish  you  had  not 
come — it  would  have  been  better  as  it  was. ' ' 

"There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that  will 
drive  me  away, ' '  Horton  said.  ' '  I  would  never  cause 
you  suffering — trouble — "  his  voice  was  husky,  "after 
all  this  time  are  the  reasons  the  same — would  I  bring 
'real  trouble'  on  you  as  you  said  in  your  letter?  It 
can 't  be  so — it  isn  't  possible ! ' ' 

She  stood  still,  thinking,  and  he  waited  in  silence. 
"Time  changes  many  things,"  she  said,  finally,  "but 
my  reasons  are  much  the  same — it  would  be  unfair 
not  to  tell  you  so." 

"Be  honest  with  me,"  he  begged.  "If  I  should 
come  to  3rour  home  as  others  do,  and  ask  you  to  give 
me  my  chance,  would  I  be  bringing  the  trouble  upon 
you  that  you  spoke  of  ? " 

104 


After  Many  Days 

"No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "not  that — but 
I  could  only  cause  you  pain — that  is  the  same  now  as 
then." 

"You  are  here,  you  cannot  escape  me  again,  you 
must  listen  to  me  now.  You  took  out  of  my  life  the 
possibility  of  any  other  woman — you  owe  me  a  little 
consideration," — his  massive  jaw  set, — "if  you  will 
not  have  me — well,  I  must  bear  it,  but  lose  you  out  of 
my  life  again,  I  will  not." 

A  man  had  come  out  of  the  ball-room,  and  stood 
looking  up  and  down,  then  came  toward  them.  "It 
is  Mr.  English,"  Kate  Talworth  said,  hurriedly. 
"The  first  dance  is  almost  over;  he  is  coming  for  me." 

"I  suppose  so,"  Horton  muttered,  bitterly,  "and 
are  you  going  to  leave  me  like  this  ? ' ' 

"No,"  she  said,  hesitating,  "I  have  been  think- 
ing— I  am  going  down  to  Los  Angeles — day  after  to- 
morrow— but  if  you  would  come  to  see  me V 

"When?"  Horton  said,  quickly. 

"To-morrow  evening.     I  shall  be  at  home." 

Horton  stopped.  "I  will  say  good-night  then,  I 
cannot  go  back  there — into  that  crowd. ' ' 

She  stood  still  also,  for  Mr.  English  was  near.  "I 
wonder  if  you  would  go  back,  just  for  a  little  while, 
and  dance  once  or  twice  with  Miss  Knight  ?  It  would 
please  me  if  you  did, ' '  her  manner  was  pleading. 

"Kate!"  he  said,  laughing,  but  his  voice  shook. 
"There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  I  will  not  do 
for  you,  and  that  is  to  disappear  entirely. ' ' 

105 


III. 

A  PLEA 

"I  KNEW  you  would  appreciate  it,"  Kate  Tal worth, 
said.  "I  love  every  inch  of  the  place." 

"It  is  beautiful — beautiful!"  Horton  repeated. 
They  had  passed  through  the  long  low-ceilinged  living- 
room  and  stopped  a  moment  in  the  glazed  porch,  then 
taken  the  gravelled  path  to  the  top  of  the  bank  above 
the  ocean.  Horton  had  looked  out  over  the  dimpling 
expanse  of  water,  that  the  after-glow  of  sunset  tinged 
with  gold,  then  down  upon  the  white  stretch,  of  beach 
below.  It  was  low  tide,  and  the  waves  rippled  up  the 
incline  of  white  sand,  the  little  pebbles  running  after 
the  receding  water  like  children  at  play.  A  dozen 
eucalyptus  of  huge  girth,  the  largest  that  Horton  had 
ever  seen,  crowned  the  bank,  several  growing  further 
down,  almost  to  the  edge  of  the  beach.  The  view  of 
the  ocean  was  through  their  branches.  To  the  right 
could  be  seen  the  line  of  islands,  and  at  the  left  the 
slope  and  irregular  sky  line  of  Rincon,  jutting  far 
out  into  the  water.  Horton  had  turned  as  he  spoke, 
and  looked  back  at  the  long  low  line  of  the  bungalow, 
set  in  its  cluster  of  knarled  live  oaks.  Roses  climbed 
the  stone  pillars  of  the  porch  that  ran  the  whole  length 
of  the  ocean  side  of  the  house  and  around  one  end 
to  the  back,  commanding  there  a  magnificent  view  of 

106 


A  Plea 

sloping  wooded  valley,  and  near-by  mountains.  They 
looked  rock-studded  and  barren  under  the  mid-day 
sun,  but  now  they  were  touched  by  the  misty  pink  of 
coming  night-fall.  The  sunken  garden,  Kate's  pride, 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  an  acre  of  vivid 
green  lawn  and  twisted  live  oaks,  brilliant  with  flowers, 
shrubs,  and  vines.  The  shaded  bank  of  violets  still 
bloomed  in  spite  of  the  June  sunshine,  and  the  rose- 
garden,  that  had  a  corner  of  its  own,  was  a  mass  of 
sweet-scented  bloom.  As  Horton  had  ridden  along  the 
winding  roadway  beneath  the  low-hung  branches  of 
the  oaks,  he  had  stopped  a  moment  to  breathe  the 
tropically  scented  air,  a  mingling  of  rose,  jasmine, 
and  lemon  blossom,  shot  through  by  the  heavier  dead- 
sweet  of  a  datura.  He  had  admired  the  artistic  line 
of  roof,  and  glimpse  of  latticed  window,  an  irregular 
outline  embraced  in  the  sheltering  green  of  the  oaks, 
the  pallid  gray  of  the  giant  eucalyptus  trunks  as  a 
background.  He  had  thought  then  as  he  did  now 
with  Kate  beside  him,  that  it  was  a  setting  well  suited 
to  her,  luxuriant,  but  touched  by  the  dignity  and 
mystery  of  the  ocean.  As  he  looked  down  on  her  he 
hoped  that  the  light  in  the  sky  would  last  a  little 
longer,  that  he  might  not  lose  the  warm  glint  it  gave 
her  hair.  He  had  never  seen  her  in  white  before,  and 
he  was  wondering  with  a  lover's  interest  if  the  black 
of  the  previous  evening  or  this  creamy  tint  of  lace 
made  her  skin  the  fairer.  She  had  received  him  cor- 

107 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

dially,  inviting  him  almost  at  once  to  come  for  a  view 
of  the  ocean  before  night-fall,  talking  brightly  to  him 
as  she  pointed  out  the  boundaries  of  her  home. 

"The  greatest  beauty  of  it  is  that  no  one  can  shut 
out  our  view/'  she  said.  "No  one  will  build  off  there 
in  the  hollow,  for  they  would  be  near  the  stable,  and 
beyond  the  garden  there  is  a  rise  that  will  conceal 
everything  but  the  very  tip  of  a  roof.  I  used  to  come 
and  sit  up  here  on  the  bank,  and  go  down  to  the 
beach,  and  just  long  for  this  piece  of  land.  I  bought 
it  the  first  moment  I  could.  Do  you  hear  that  ? ' ' 

"What  is  it?"  said  Horton,  who  had  heard  noth- 
ing but  her  voice  and  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the 
curve  of  her  lips,  and  the  downward  sweep  of  her 
lashes  as  she  talked.  She  pointed  toward  the  stable. 
"  It  is  Abdulla, ' '  she  said,  with  laughter  in  her  voice. 

"Abdulla?"  Horton  repeated,  absently. 

"The  goat.  That's  Aunt  Silence's  domain  over 
there."  Horton  was  aware  now  of  the  disgruntled 
"bah"  that  came  faintly  up  to  them.  "Aunt  Silence 
wastes  hours  down  there,  just  as  she  says  I  do  in  my 
garden.  Abdulla  is  a  Persian  kid  and  this  climate 
does  not  suit  him." 

Horton  smiled  with  her.  ' '  What  in  the  world  does 
Mrs.  Silence  want  with  a  goat?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Kate  said.  "She  has  sixteen 
Chinese  chickens  that  won't  lay,  some  huge  white 
duckg  that  flew  away  out  to  sea  the  first  day  they 

108 


A  Plea 

were  let  loose  and  didn  't  come  back  for  two  days,  and 
a  pair  of  peacocks  that  you  can  hear  clear  to  the 
Country  Club.  She  also  has  some  strange  geese  from 
somewhere,  and  two  other  goats  that  are  not  Ameri- 
can. I  think  one  must  be  a  chamois,  for  it  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  garage  roof  the  other  day. ' ' 

"What  a  collection!"  said  Horton.  "Abdulla 
seems  to  be  unhappy." 

"He  is,"  Kate  said,  laughing.  "He  has  been  ail- 
ing, and  Aunt  Silence  went  off  with  Hop  and  the  milk- 
bottle  directly  after  dinner." 

"Hop!"  exclaimed  Horton,  "and  Aunt  Silence! 
It  cannot  be  fifteen  years  since  that  boy  on  the  train 
talked  about  them — what  was  his  name?" 

"Eichard  Allison,"  said  Kate.  "He  is  Mrs. 
Silence's  nephew  and  he  is  not  a  boy  any  more.  I 
think  he  looks  older  than  you  do."  She  glanced  up  at 
him.  "You  are  a  little  heavier,  and,  yes,  your  face 
is  older,  but  you  have  not  changed  very  much." 

"Yet  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  had  taken  that  jour- 
ney during  some  other  existence,  it  seems  so  long  ago. 
Then  again  it  is  all  as  plain  as  yesterday,"  he  spoke 
half  to  himself,  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

The  shadows  were  gathering,  and  she  said  a  trifle 
hastily,  "It  is  getting  dark — shall  we  go  in?" 

He  noticed  the  anxious  little  wrinkle  that  had  ap- 
peared in  her  forehead,  and  he  reassured  her  in  a  voice 
that  suppressed  feeling  made  deep.  ' '  Don 't  be  afraid, 

109 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Kate — "  he  said,  "yon  will  let  me  call  you  that,  won't 
you?  I  have  called  you  'Kate'  for  so  long — to  my- 
self— I  shall  not  worry  you  as  I  did  last  night.  I 
didn't  know  what  I  was  about — it  was  too  much  for 
me,  seeing  you  that  way.  I  have  thought  most  of  the 
night  and  all  day  of  how  wild  I  must  have  seemed  to 
you.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  always  known  you,  but  that 
is  because  I  have  loved  you  I  think  from  the  first 
minute  I  saw  you.  You  might  have  forgotten  almost 
that  I  existed — there  was  no  reason  why  you  should 
not.  You  showed  your  goodness  of  heart  when  you 
had  patience  with  me,  and  let  me  come  to-night,  and 
I  have  no  intention  of  abusing  your  kindness."  He 
was  looking  at  her,  but  she  was  gazing  off  over  the 
ocean,  her  lips  compressed. 

"I  had  not  forgotten  you,"  she  said,  finally. 
"How  could  I  forget.  I  have  always  remembered 
you — with  gratitude — but  I  cannot  explain  myself 
now,  any  better  than  I  did  then,  and  I  can't  say  one 
word  more  now  than  I  did  in  my  letter  to  you  all  those 
years  ago.  I  do  not  return  your — your  feeling  for 
me,  but  even  if  I  loved  you  I  should  give  you  the 
same  answer,  and  I  am  sorry  for  your  sake  that  you 
ever  met  me — if  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  feel  any 
other  way." 

"Kate,  in  time,  if  I  keep  myself  in  hand,  if  I  do 
not  urge  you — if  I  can  have  my  chance*  to  make  you 

care  for  me " 

110 


A  Plea 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  said,  firmly.  "I  would  do 
wrong  if  I  misled  you.  I  am  just  as  settled  in  my 
determination  now  as  I  was  then.  I  will  marry  no- 
body. You  cannot  move  me  now  or  at  any  other 
time.  I  felt  that  the  sooner  I  told  you  this  the  better, 
so  I  asked  you  to  come  to-night. ' ' 

He  stood  silent  before  her,  his  face  paling.  "I 
suppose  I  am  answered,"  he  said  at  length,  and  with 
difficulty.  "I  didn't  mean  to — to  talk  about  it  this 
evening.  The  only  comfort  you  have  given  me  is  that 
you  'will  marry  nobody,'  and  I  haven't  a  right  in  the 
world  to  ask  you  why.  I  have  worried  along  all  this 
time — I  shall  just  have  to  go  on.  I  am  unfortunate 
enough  to  have  an  ideal,  and  I  have  made  all  sorts  of 
mistakes  trying  to  realize  it — and  I  cannot  give  it  up — 
not  yet.  But,  Kate, — please  look  at  me, — I  will  try  to 
forget  all  this,  I  will  not  mention  it  again,  if  you 
will  let  me  come  sometimes,  and  be  friendly  to  me. ' ' 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  and  turning  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm.  "Of  course  I  shall,"  she  said,  ear- 
nestly. "Indeed,  you  don't  know  what  it  would  be 
to  me  to  have  you  for  a  friend.  Aside  from  Aunt 
Silence,  and  just  one  or  two  others,  I  have  po  friends. 
I  don't  count  the  people  I  know  here  at  all;  they  mean 
no  more  to  me  than  the  furniture  of  the  Country  Club 
over  there.  If  I  were  of  a  nature  to  let  myself  be 
lonely  I  should  be  terribly  so  sometimes."  She  spoke 
quickly  for  her,  a  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "I — I 

ill 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

should  like  to  thank  you  for  putting  other  things  out 
of  your  mind,  and  just — just  taking  me  at  my  word." 
Her  eyes  were  wide  and  earnest  as  she  looked  up  at 
him,  and  she  stood  close;  within  the  possible  circle  of 
his  arm ;  the  years  of  loneliness  and  unsatisfied  longing 
of  which"  he  dared  not  speak,  tugged  at  him,  demand- 
ing satisfaction.  He  looked  helplessly  from  her  face 
to  the  hand  on  his  sleeve,  and  his  teeth  came 
together. 

"It  is  I  should  thank  you,"  he  said,  indistinctly. 

"Shall  we  go  in  now?"  she  said,  gently,  and  they 
turned  toward  the  house. 

Kate  stopped  in  the  glazed  porch.  The  paved 
floor  was  covered  with  a  heavy  rug,  and  several  rockers 
were  visible  in  the  dimness.  "I  will  not  turn  on  the 
light,"  Kate  said,  "for  the  moon  will  make  it  light 
enough  in  a  short  time — you  can  see  it  there  above  us 
now,  through  the  trees.  There  are  shreds  of  fog 
about,  and  it  will  be  a  misty  sort  of  light." 

"It  is  growing  cooler,  too,  Kate.  I  enjoy  it,  but 
will  it  be  warm  enough  out  here  for  you?" 

"I  sit  here  almost  every  evening,"  she  replied, 
"and  I  am  used  to  it,  but  I  have  a  shawl  here  beside 
me." 

"Let  me  put  it  around  you."  He  lifted  it  from 
the  chair  beside  her,  and  bending  over  wrapped  it 
about  her  carefully.  "It  is  always  cool  here  at  night 
— too  cool  for  comfort,"  he  said.  His  voice  was  low 

112 


A  Plea 

and  dull,  and  he  drew  back  again  into  his  chair,  sit- 
ting with  drooping  shoulders  and  head  bent.  He 
was  striving  with  a  depression  that  made  each  word 
he  uttered  an  effort.  There  was  so  little  he  could 
say  that  did  not  touch  upon  the  forbidden  sub- 
ject. He  felt  that  the  best  thing  for  him  to  do  was 
to  mount  his  horse  and  go  back  to  the  hotel  and  the 
misery  of  the  night  that  awaited  him.  He  had  learned 
to  dread  beyond  anything  the  paralyzing  fits  of  de- 
pression that  descended  on  him  and  sat  like  a  leaden 
weight  on  his  spirit.  No  woman  Horton  had  ever 
known,  and  vejy  few  of  the  many  men  who  liked  and 
respected  him,  had  any  knowledge  of  the  reason  for 
the  quiet  man 's  occasionally  still  more  marked  reserve. 
In  earlier  years  he  had  tried  various  methods  of  for- 
getting himself,  but  they  were  unsatisfactory  hours  to 
look  back  upon,  and  he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
withdrawing  into  himself,  and  fighting  out  his  battle 
unaided.  He  thought  now  a  little  bitterly  that  one 
tender  word  would  be  sufficient  to  lift  him  into  a  pas- 
sion of  joy,  and  she  withheld  it  from  him. 

He  was  not  aware  of  the  length  of  time  they  had 
sat  silent,  until  Kate  said,  "Do  you  see  that  lantern 
bobbing  around  there  in  the  hollow?  That  is  Aunt 
Silence." 

Horton  aroused  himself.    "Miss  Knight  was  speak- 
ing of  you  last  night — she  said  that  Mrs.  Silence  lived 
with  you.     I  thought  then  that  you  had  after  all  kept 
8  113 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

your  promise  to  that  Allison  boy  on  the  train — you 
remember  you  told  him  you  would  let  him  know  where 
you  were — but  you  would  have  none  of  me,  Kate." 
He  endeavored  to  speak  evenly,  but  there  was  no  hid- 
ing the  hurt  that  lay  in  his  words. 

Kate  drew  an  inaudible  sigh,  but  she  answered 
him  gently.  "I  am  afraid  I  was  as  ungrateful  in  my 
conduct  to  him  as  I  was  to  you,  Mr.  Payne.  It  was  by 
a  chance  that  I  met  Mrs.  Silence  five  years  ago.  She 
came  to  a  sanatorium  in  the  mountains,  a  place  to 
which  my  uncle  went  sometimes,  and  we  met.  She 
was  lovely  to  me — like  a  mother  to  a  grown  daughter, 
and  I  grew  to  love  her,  for  no  one  else  had  ever  been 
like  that  to  me.  When  my  uncle  died  she  offered  to 
live  with  me  part  o'f  the  time,  and  for  four  years  we 
have  been  together  most  of  the  time.  It  was  after  I 
knew  her  that  I  met  Eichard  Allison  again.  He  is  a 
lawyer  in  Los  Angeles,  and  looks  after  much  of  my 
business  for  me,  so  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him. 
My  uncle  left  me  so  much  property  to  look  after,  and 
Mr.  Allison  is  a  very  capable  business  man  as  well  as 
being  a  lawyer.  Did  Miss  Knight  tell  you  about  my 
uncle?" 

"Yes,  she  said  that  he  was  an  invalid,  and  that 
you  took  care  of  him." 

"Yes,  for  years.  He  adopted  me,  really,  and 
wanted  me  to  take  his  name,  and  I  was  glad  to  do  so. 
He  was  my  mother's  brother  and  when  I  first  met  you 

114 


A  Plea 

I  was  coming  out  to  him.  It  was  all  an  uncertainty 
to  me  then,  for  I  had  never  met  him,  and  he  did  not 
know  I  was  coming.  He  and  my  mother  quarrelled, 
and  he  never  forgave  her  her  marriage.  He  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  us.  He  was  a  very  hard  man, 
but  I  was  only  too  glad  when  he  let  me  stay  with  him. 
I  was  all  alone — I  had  no  one  but  him  to  go  to.  I 
should  like  to  tell  you  about  the  way  I  have  lived  since 
— after  I  came  to  my  uncle — if  you  care  to  hear  ? ' ' 

"Do  you  need  to  ask  me?"  Horton  said,  quickly. 
Kate's  voice  was  soft  and  sweet,  the  same  clear,  delib- 
erate intonation  he  remembered  so  well,  and  he 
flushed  warmly  as  he  listened  to  her.  He  could  not 
feel  that  she  had  changed  at  all  from  the  girl  of  his 
recollection.  She  bent  toward  him  a  little,  her  hands 
clasped  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  an  attitude  that  asked 
for  his  attention,  an  appeal  to  him  to  dismiss  hurt 
feelings.  He  felt  her  charm  just  as  he  had  felt  it  on 
that  night  when  she  had  lifted  him  out  of  dissatis- 
faction and  uncertainty  into  happiness,  and  then 
vanished  from  his  sight.  The  years  that  had  passed 
were  a  dream  only,  and  he  had  waked  to  find  her  un- 
changed, alluring,  but  still  beyond  his  reach.  His 
head  lifted,  his  depression  of  the  moment  before 
forgotten. 

"I  was  trying  to  come  here  to  my  uncle  when  you 
met  me  and  helped  me,"  Kate  said.  "I  left  Los 
Angeles  as  soon  as  I  could,  and  found  my  uncle  here. 

115 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

He  received  me  ungraciously,  but  he  let  me  stay.  I 
was  willing  to  work  for  him  like  a  servant  if  he  would 
only  give  me  a  home,  and  he  let  me  be  his  nurse — I 
had  more  patience  than  most.  After  a  while  he  grew 
to  like  me,  and  was  kind  to  me  in  his  way.  He  suf- 
fered terribly  sometimes,  and  was  almost  never  free 
from  pain.  He  grew  to  rely  on  me  entirely  and  I 
was  happier  after  that,  for  he  needed  me  just  as  a  sick 
child  would.  He  used  to  talk  constantly  to  me  about 
his  investments,  so  that  I  should  know  how  to  manage 
all  the  money  he  was  going  to  leave  me,  for  toward 
the  end  he  told  me  that  he  was  going  to  leave  me 
everything,  and  I  have  tried  to  carry  out  his  wishes. 
Since  his  death  I  have  lived  here  most  of  the  time 
with  Aunt  Silence,  for  I  love  this  beautiful  place — 
there  is  no  other  place  like  it.  Aunt  Silence's  home  is 
in  Los  Angeles,  and  I  am  going  back  and  forth  con- 
stantly, but  I  am  happier  here  by  the  ocean  than 
anywhere  else." 

"Kate,"  Horton  demanded,  abruptly,  "why  did 
you  leave  me  as  you  did  that  night  at  the  hotel?  I 
have  asked  myself  the  question  constantly — some 
things  I  think  I  understand,  but  not  that.  You  know 
— you  must  have  known  that  I  loved  you,  and  you 
did  that  to  me "  Horton  had  lost  hold  on  him- 
self, his  promise  and  his  firm  determination  to  keep 
guard  upon  himself,  forgotten.  He  rose  in  uncon- 
trollable agitation  and  stood  over  Kate,  who  shrank 

116 


A  Plea 

a  little  in  her  chair,  her  shawl  drawn  up  to  cover  her 
trembling  lips.  "Why,  Kate,  I  was  almost  beside 
myself  for  months.  I  wanted  a  sight  of  you  more 
than  a  thirsty  man  wants  water,  and  I  was  tied  hand 
and  foot  by  your  letter."  He  tried  to  speak  more 
calmly.  "You  see,  Kate,  everything  went  wrong 
with  me  at  once,  for  I  had  lost  most  of  what  my 
father  had  left  me,  and  then  I  lost  you.  I  obeyed  you 
faithfully  for  a  long  time  and  then  I  couldn't  endure 
it  any  longer  and  I  searched  for  you.  I  did  every- 
thing I  could  here,  except  to  employ  detectives — your 
letter  restrained  me  from  that — and  finally  I  went  to 
Eisenach  and  talked  to  Herr  Tupfer.  They  scarcely 
remembered  you,  and  could  not  give  me  your  name 
even.  You  appeared  to  have  vanished  as  completely 
as  if  you  had  never  existed,  and  taken  with  you  the 
possibility  of  my  finding  in  another  what  I  lost  in 
you."  Hortqn  spoke  jerkily  in  his  endeavor  to  gain 
calmness.  "The  fact  that  I  had  lost  you  only  made 
the  want  of  you  the  greater.  I  cherished  your  Flem- 
ish pin  as  the  only  tangible  remembrance  I  had  of  you ; 
I  could  touch  it,  look  at  it  night  and  morning.  I 
never  entered  a  strange  room  but  my  first  look 
searched  it  for  you;  I  never  walked  a  street  without 
taking  note  of  those  who  passed  me — it  grew  to  be  as 
natural  a  thing  as  to  eat  or  sleep.  I  preferred  a  mem- 
ory to  a  reality  that  would  not  satisfy.  .  .  .  Kate, 
you  know  you  could  have  done  with  me  as  you  liked — 

117 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

I  should  have  obeyed  you — as  I  will  now,  but  you  left 
me  like  that !  Tell  me  what  it  all  means,  Kate.  Have 
a  little  confidence  in  me — let  me  judge  a  little  for  my- 
self  "  He  stopped,  his  breath  coming  quickly. 

She  was  silent,  then  she  said,  quietly,  "I  cannot 
tell  you." 

"You  cannot,  or  is  it  that  you  will  not,  Kate?" 

She  drew  the  shawl  from  her  lips,  and  raising  her 
head,  looked  up-  at  him.  "Perhaps  it  is  that  I  will 
not,"  she  said,  evenly.  "Did  you  mean  what  you 
said  a  short  time  ago,  when  you  spoke  as  if  we  might 
be  friends?  That  would  mean  that  you  would  have 
to  pass  over  much  that  you  did  not  understand.  I 
believe  it  would  not  be  possible  to  you — it  is  asking 
too  much  of  yourself.  I  repeat  that  I  can  give  you 
nothing  but  what  I  offered  a  few  minutes  ago,  and 
my  friendship  will  not  satisfy  you,  or  make  you 
happy.  It  is  for  your  sake  that  I  beg  you  to  give 
up  any  thought  of  me." 

Horton  was  silent,  looking  down  into  her  lifted 
face.  "I  cannot  do  it,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  low 
voice,  "I  must  take  anything  you  will  give  me — I  will 
take  it — gladly — without  question  or  complaint — after 
this." 

"You  would  be  trying  to  do  a  thing  that  will  be 
too  difficult  for  you,"  Kate  said,  earnestly.  She  rose 
and  stood  before  him.  "I  shall  have  to  speak  more 
plainly  to  you — and  I  will  hurt  you,  but  you  must 

118 


A  Plea 

understand.  I  meant  what  I  said  when  I  told  you 
a  short  time  ago  that  I  should  like  to  have  you  for  a 
friend;  I  wanted  to  show  you  that  I  was  grateful  to 
you,  as  grateful  as  I  was  when  I  wrote  to  you,  all  those 
years  ago.  There  is  so  much  that  I  like  in  you,  I 
would  trust  you  in  many  ways,  but  when  you  urge 
me,  when  you  speak  and  look  as  you  do  sometimes, 
for  you  have  not  changed  at  all,  you  frighten  me — 
you  remind  me  of — of  things  that  hurt  me — that  I 
want  to  forget " 

"Kate!" 

"I  know,  but  I  must  tell  the  truth  to  you.  You 
cannot  understand  me  at  all — that  is  my  misfortune. 
I  have  always  had  a  feeling  that  I  had  done  you 
a  wrong,  and  yet  I  cannot  see  how  else  I  could  have 
acted — or  how  else  I  can  act  now.  I  have  said  all  I 
can  to  you — I  have  told  you  the  truth  about  my  feel- 
ing to  you "  She  stopped,  looking  up  at  him, 

her  hands  twisting  the  fringe  of  her  shawl,  her  voice 
trembling  in  its  earnestness. 

"You  have  told  me  the  truth — certainly — "  Hor- 
ton  said,  his  lips  stiff.  "It  is  better  always  to  know 
how  one  stands — you  want  to  be  kind  to  me — you 
like  me  enough  to  offer  me  your  friendship,  you  trust 
me  enough  for  that,  for  a  friendship  with  reservations ; 
it  is  something,  Kate,  but  when  it  comes  to  vital  things, 
to  the  things  that  matter,  you  distrust  me.  I  am 
tangled  up  in  your  mind  with  things,  or  a  person,  or 

119 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

circumstances  that  are  painful  to  you — it  is  that  makes 
you  turn  from  me.  It  was  your  attitude  back  at  the 
time  when  I  first  met  you,  and  it  is  just  the  same 
now.  You  will  explain  nothing  to  me — I  must  feel  my 
way  in  the  dark,  but,  Kate,  I  am  a  determined  man, 
and  I  have  waited  a  long  time.  You  may  never  love 
me — I  don't  know  what  I  have  to  struggle  against — 
but  trust  me  you  shall,  and  will."  He  spoke  with 
an  emphasis  that  shook  him.  Kate  made  no  answer, 
but  her  eyes  dropped  from  his  face  to  the  bit  of  shawl 
she  was  holding.  Horton  came  a  little  closer  to  her. 
"Listen  to  me,  please,  Kate,"  he  said.  "I  give  you 
my  word  that  from  this  day  I  will  not  question  or 
urge — I  will  take  what  you  choose  to  give  me  and  be 
grateful — I  have  longed  for  you  endlessly,  and  just 
to  see  you  is  like  heaven.  I  only  ask  that  you  give 
me  a  chance  to  prove  myself  worthy  of  your  entire 
trust.  If  you  will  be  patient  with  me  and  give  me 
time  I  can  do  that  much — I  know  it.  ...  You  will 
not  drive  me  away,  Kate?" 

"No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  would  not  do 
that." 

"I  may  see  you — talk  to  you — if  there  is  anything 
I  can  do  for  you,  you  will  let  me  do  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

He  laughed,  uncertainly.  "Shake  hands  with  me 
then,  please,  Kate,"  he  begged.  "I  am  going  away 
now — you  have  had  enough  of  me  for  one  evening." 

120 


A  Plea 

"You  damn  liar,"  came  in  plaintive  tones  from  the 
shadow  in  the  direction  of  the  stable.  Kate  gave  a 
hysterical  gasp,  and  Horton  cried  sharply,  "Who  was 
that?" 

"Hop,"  Kate  said,  in  a  smothered  voice,  "and 
Aunt  Silence — see  them?"  Two  figures  were  emerg- 
ing from  the  gloom  into  the  dim  light ;  they  were  not 
far  from  the  porch.  Mrs.  Silence's  was  presumably 
the  short  and  broad  figure,  and  Hop's  the  indistinct 
body  possessing  two  spidery  bow-legs.  They  came 
almost  to  the  corner  of  the  porch,  and  stopped.  Kate 
touched  Horton 's  arm.  ' '  Listen, ' '  she  said. 

"I  ought  to  have  stayed,"  said  Mrs.  Silence,  her 
rather  metallic  voice  guilty  of  a  quaver.  "I  suppose 
he  had  an  agony  inside  all  afternoon.  It's  all  my 
fault." 

"Heap  lie!"  Hop  ejaculated,  consolingly. 

"What  th "  Horton  began  in  angry  surprise, 

but  Kate  touched  his  arm. 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  it,  Hop,"  Aunt 
Silence  said,  "you  never  had  appendicitis." 

"Him  damn  fool — die  heap  quick,"  said  Hop, 
sorrowfully. 

"I  know,  Hop.  Poor  baby — and  I  playing 
bridge!" 

"You  stay  bed  for  breakfast,"  Hop  tempted.  "I 
makee  cakes — velly  good!  I  bring  em  up." 

121 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"I  couldn't  eat  them,"  said  Mrs.  Silence,  with  a 
sigh.  "It's  no  use  Hop." 

"You  damn  liar,"  Hop  repeated,  dejectedly. 
"Him  damn  fool." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Aunt  Silence.  "He  was  a 
dear,"  and  she  sighed  again.  "Good-night,  Hop." 

Hop  grunted,  and  Aunt  Silence  turned  to  the 
porch.  She  had  reached  the  steps  when  he  called, 
"Missee  Silence!" 

"Yes,"  said  Aunt  Silence. 

"I  makee  cakes?"    His  voice  was  cajoling. 

"No,"  said  Aunt  Silence,  firmly.  "I  couldn't 
swallow  a  mouthful." 

"Ugh!"  grunted  Hop,  and  he  grunted  again  sor- 
rowfully, as  he  went  on  to  the  kitchen. 

"Come,"  whispered  Kate.  Horton  followed  her 
around  the  porch  to  the  back,  and  there  they  stopped. 
"Aunt  Silence  wants  to  meet  you,"  Kate  said.  "She 
thinks  she  used  to  know  your  father  in  early  days 
in  Los  Angeles.  She  spoke  of  knowing  a  Payne 
family  who  used  to  live  out  on  the  heights,  Summit 
Hill  I  think  she  said,  but  it  is  not  a  part  of  the  city 
I  know.  You  must  meet  her,  but  not  to-night.  Evi- 
dently poor  Abdulla  is  dead,  and  Aunt  Silence  will 
be  wretched.  Hop  was  trying  to  comfort  her. ' ' 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  meet  Mrs.  Silence," 
Horton  said.  "It  must  have  been  our  family  she 
knew,  but,  Kate,  when  will  you  let  me  see  you  again?" 

122 


A  Plea 

"I  must  go  to  Los  Angeles  to-morrow,  but  I  shall 
be  gone  only  two  days,  I  think — when  I  come  back.  " 

"May  I  come  in  a  few  days  to  see  if  you  ha~ve 
returned?  You  will  not  stay  long,  will  you,  Kate?" 
He  held  the  hand  she  gave  him,  studying  her  face  in 
the  dim  light. 

"I  shall  want  to  get  back  as  soon  as  I  can,"  she 
said. 

"You  are  so  pale,  dear,  I  have  tired  you  out." 

"No,"  she  said,  with  an  effort.  "It  is  this  sickly 
light."  She  drew  her  hand  from  his,  but  she  did  it 
gently.  "Good-night.  I  shall  watch  here  until  you 
get  your  horse."  She  stepped  back  from  him  into 
the  shadow,  and  Horton  went  on  down  the  steps. 
She  stood  until  he  had  ridden  well  into  the  darkness 
of  the  live  oaks  and  then  she  came  out  to  the  light, 
her  face  raised  to  the  scattered  stars,  that  gleamed 
fitfully  through  their  covering  fingers  of  fleecy  cloud ; 
in  the  misty  light  she  looked  white  and  very  tired. 


IV. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  DECAY 

IT  was  early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  that 
Kate  Talworth  boarded  a  Summit  Hill  car  with  the 
half-formed  intention  of  seeing  a  part  of  Los  Angeles 
that  she  did  not  know.  She  had  come  down  from 
Moneta  on  an  early  train,  and  completed  in  an  hour 
the  business  for  which  she  had  come.  She  had  writ- 
ten a  letter  afterwards  to  Richard  Allison,  and  lin- 
gered over  a  solitary  lunch  at  the  Alexandria,  won- 
dering vaguely  what  she  should  do  during  the  long 
afternoon  before  her.  She  had  time  to  take  a  return 
train  that  day  to  Moneta,  but  she  had  no  desire  to  do 
so.  The  same  reasons  that  made  her  in  no  haste  to 
return  to  Moneta,  deterred  her  from  telling  Richard 
Allison  that  she  would  be  spending  that  evening  in 
Los  Angeles.  She  felt  wretchedly  depressed.  It  was 
no  new  anxiety  that  weighed  upon  her,  it  was  a  dis- 
tress of  years'  duration,  but  Horton  Payne's  sudden 
appearance  had  vivified  it.  His  voice,  his  bearing, 
the  whole  look  of  him,  was  too  strong  a  reminder  of 
the  past.  His  apparent  unconsciousness  of  the  lapse 
•f  years  made  the  unhappy  days  of  her  girlhood 
merely  a  thing  of  yesterday  and  the  day  before.  Into 
what  sort  of  forgetfulness  had  she  tricked  herself  by 

124 


The  House  of  Decay 

presuming  to  dream  that  she  could  make  a  future  into 
which  the  past  would  not  enter?  It  was  as  well  that 
in  Horton's  reappearance  she  had  been  given  a  re- 
minder of  the  fact  that  in  calculations  of  the  future 
one  should  not  discount  the  past. 

It  was  not  only  of  herself  that  Kate  thought  as  she 
listlessly  made  a  pretense  of  lunching.  She  had  the 
understanding  of  suffering  that  experience  brings,  and 
Horton's  look  of  pain  hurt  her  intolerably.  It  had 
made  the  last  two  days  a  torment  to  her.  She  had 
never  conceived  it  possible  that  he  would  carry  with 
him  through  years  a  memory  of  her  that  to  him  was 
as  fresh  as  an  occurrence  of  the  day  before.  She  had 
always  feared  that  chance  would  bring  them  together 
again,  and  had  shrunk  from  that  possibility  as  she 
did  from  everything  that  might  remind  her  of  past 
suffering.  How  could  she  best  meet  his  determined 
appeal  to  her  ?  She  had  no  belief  in  his  power  of  re- 
straint, and  it  would  all  end  in  her  hurting  him  ter- 
ribly. "You  will  not  drive  me  away  from  you?"  he 
had  begged  of  her,  and  yet  what  other  course  was 
possible  to  her  ?  To  hurt  anything  that  had  the  power 
to  suffer  was  actual  torture  to  Kate.  It  did  violence 
to  her  nature,  the  strongest  characteristic  of  which 
was  an  immense  capacity  for  tenderness.  The  fact 
that  she  did  not  love  Horton,  that  through  no  fault  of 
his  he  reminded  her  of  features,  attitudes,  inflections 
of  voice,  that  stirred  a  terror  in  her  amounting  almost 

125 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

to  fascination,  only  made  her  pity  for  him  the  greater. 
Kate  had  miserably  pondered  her  problem,  not  hers 
alone  but  Horton  Payne's  and  Richard  Allison's  as 
well,  and  saw  no  solution  that  promised  happiness 
to  any  of  them. 

She  had  gone  out  to  the  street  finally  with  the 
feeling  that  she  must  move  about,  and  seek  some  in- 
terest. She  could  not  spend  the  afternoon  as  she 
had  the  previous  night  with  nothing  to  distract  her 
thoughts.  As  she  walked  aimlessly  along  Broadway 
a  car  bearing  the  sign  "Summit  Hill"  passed  her. 
She  remembered  Aunt  Silence's  description  of  the 
Summit  Hill  region,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that  she 
might  spend  the  afternoon  seeing  a  part  of  the  city 
that  would  be  new  to  her.  It  might  take  her  thoughts 
from  painful  subjects. 

They  had  skirted  the  Angel's  Flight,  and  coming 
up  behind  it  climbed  to  the  crown  of  the  next  hill, 
before  Kate  paid  much  attention  to  her  surroundings. 
But  here  the  view  she  gained  of  the  city  spread  out 
below  her  was  so  striking  that  she  left  the  car  in 
order  that  she  might  stand  and  look  out  upon  it,  and 
enjoy  it  more  fully.  To  the  extreme  left  and  behind 
her  were  the  hills,  partly  built  over,  a  curious  mis- 
cellany of  dwellings,  shanties  and  chicken  pens  in 
the  hollows,  here  and  there  a  street  of  new  bungalows 
topping  the  higher  ground,  and  an  occasional  house 
of  older  architecture,  half  hidden  by  big  peppers  and 

126 


The  House  of  Decay 

tall  eucalyptus.  She  had  seen  the  town  of  fifteen 
years  ago  stretch  itself  and  grow,  and  in  the  last  few 
years  had  watched  it  spring  into  a  city ;  she  had  seen 
miles  of  streets  laid  out,  and  tract  after  tract  built 
upon  and  shaded  by  quickly  growing  peppers,  acacias, 
and  eucalyptus,  but  this  particular  view  was  quite 
new  to  her,  and  she  stood  a  long  time  thoughtfully 
looking  out  over  the  white  city.  What  a  vast  differ- 
ence between  the  town  of  1893  that  she  remembered  so 
well  and  the  teeming  city  of  1908.  She  turned  her 
back  upon  it  then;  and  walking  northward  over  the 
hills,  descended  into  a  gorge  and  climbed  again  to  the 
crown  of  the  next  hill.  There  she  came  upon  a  huge 
rambling  building  and  neglected  grounds  that  inter- 
ested her  greatly ;  they  were  so  singularly  out  of  place 
in  their  surroundings. 

Kate  judged  that  the  grounds  must  cover  some 
fifteen  acres  or  more,  the  house,  of  which  she  could 
catch  a  glimpse  through  the  trees,  standing  about  a 
third  of  the  way  down  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and  pre- 
senting, even  at  that  distance,  an  appearance  of  deso- 
late decay.  She  went  close  to  the  high  wire  fence, 
and  peered  through  the  neglected  growth  of  trees  and 
shrubs,  discovering  at  one  corner  of  the  grounds  an 
attempt  at  a  kitchen  garden  and  a  collection  of  ancient 
chicken-coops,  about  which  stalked  a  few  fowls;  but 
that  was  the  only  sign  of  life. 

It  was  evidently  the  back  of  the  house  she  saw,  and 
127 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Kate  studied  it  long  and  curiously,  unable  to  decide  if 
it  had  once  been  a  dwelling,  or  an  institution  of  some 
kind.  It  was  many-gabled  and  steep-roofed,  the  win- 
dows narrow  and  high,  many  of  them  boarded  up,  the 
rest  containing  only  splinters  of  glass.  The  storms  of 
the  winter  appeared  to  have  carried  off  a  part  of  the 
roof  of  the  left  wing,  and  the  tops  of  the  eucalyptus 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house  might  be  seen  through 
the  bare  rafters.  It  was  a  scene  desolate  in  the  ex- 
treme, and  wholly  out  of  keeping  in  that  city  of  rapid 
growth.  It  breathed  a  possibility  of  romance,  a  sug- 
gestion of  tragedy.  Kate  turned  then  and  looked 
about  her.  Behind  her  was  a  stretch  of  open  country, 
laid  out  into  lots;  on  one  side  of  the  grounds  into 
which  she  had  been  looking  ran  the  arroyo,  or  gorge, 
she  had  just  crossed,  and  on  the  other  side  was  a  collec- 
tion of  abandoned  oil-derricks.  She  could  not  see 
what  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  for  the  house  and  the 
trees  shut  out  the  view. 

Kate  skirted  the  fence  until  she  came  to  a  roadway, 
directly  in  the  centre  of  which  was  planted  the  sign, 
"No  Trespassing."  She  hesitated,  but  her  interest 
was  keen,  and  she  wished  particularly  to  get  a  better 
view  of  the  house.  The  wires  that  crossed  the  sunken 
roadway  were  bent  and  broken,  and  she  parted  them 
and  entered.  The  drooping  branches  of  the  pepper 
trees  shut  out  the  sun  and  the  view,  and  she  kept  on 
until  the  road  brought  her  to  the  side  of  the  house, 

128 


The  House  of  Decay 

The  indication  of  a  driveway  continued,  leading  round 
to  the  front,  but  Kate  stopped  suddenly  when  she 
reached  the  open,  arrested  by  the  bark  of  a  dog  and 
a  girl's  shrill  voice.  "Down  Tiger!  Down,  I  say," 
the  girl  cried.  ' '  You  '11  step  on  the  babies — bad  dog ! ' ' 

Kate  had  turned  and  looked  behind  her  in  amaze- 
ment. They  sat  well  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  pepper 
trees,  a  bright  bit  of  color  in  the  warm  afternoon  sun, 
the  girl  in  her  gayly  flowered  Japanese  silk  kimono, 
her  yard  of  black  hair  flowing  over  her  shoulders  and 
falling  on  the  white  outspread  towel  behind  her,  the 
yellow  dog  at  her  feet.  She  was  pushing  the  animal 
from  her  knee,  drawing  the  two  kittens  she  held  up  to 
her  breast.  They  stared  unblinkingly  across  her 
round  arm  at  the  dog,  and  she  bent  her  cheek  to 
them,  pinching  their  tiny  ears  between  her  lips. 

The  group  struck  so  incongruous  a  note  in  the  pre- 
vailing atmosphere  of  neglect  and  decay,  that  Kate 
stood  still  staring,  and  then  moved  slowly  toward 
them.  She  made  little  noise  as  she  walked  over  the 
dried  grass,  and  was  quite  near  them  when  the  dog 
heard  her  and  sprang  erect  with  a  growl,  his  rough 
coat  bristling,  his  teeth  bared. 

"Tiger!"  the  girl  commanded,  shrilly.  "Down, 
back  here,  I  say!"  She  had  risen  to  her  feet  and 
whirled  about,  her  eyes  growing  wide  with  surprise  as 
she  gazed  at  the  intruder. 

The  dog  moved  forward,  threateningly,  and  the 
9  129 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

warm  color  in  the  girl 's  cheek  deepened,  her  ordinarily 
sleepy  eyes  aflame.  "Tiger,  did  you  hear  me  say 
'  back ' ! "  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot.  She  bent  and 
seized  a  stick  that  lay  on  the  ground,  and  Kate  winced 
at  the  blow  she  dealt  the  dog.  The  animal  crouched 
and  dropped  at  her  feet,  and  she  touched  his  head 
warningly  with  the  stick.  "You've  forgotten  to  mind 
me!"  she  exclaimed.  "Stay  there,  now!"  She 
turned  then  to  Kate,  her  eyes  soft  again  in  their 
glance,  "He  won't  touch  you  now,"  she  said,  "but 
he  is  ugly — he's  almost  always  chained.  He  is  the 
kind  of  dog  you  have  to  beat.  Tiger,  come  here, — 
you  shall  have  your  chain  on  you. ' '  She  put  the  kit- 
tens down  gently  on  the  grass,  and  caught  the  dog 
by  the  loose  skin  on  his  neck,  half  dragging  him  to- 
ward the  kennel  a  few  feet  away.  She  fastened  the 
chain  about  his  neck,  laughing  softly  as  the  animal 
crouched,  his  jowl  on  his  out-stretched  paws,  his  yel- 
low eyes  blinking  as  he  looked  up  at  her.  "So,"  she 
said,  "that's  better!" 

Kate  had  stood  white  and  speechless,  watching 
every  movement  the  girl  'had  made,  and  when  she 
turned  from  the  dog,  and  picking  up  the  kittens,  ap- 
proached her,  it  was  the  girl  who  spoke  first.  "Are 
you  frightened  yet?"  she  asked.  "He  is  tied." 

Kate  smiled,  though  her  lips  were  still  bloodless, 
and  she  was  trembling.  ' '  I  was  not  so  frightened  as 
I  was  surprised — I  never  dreamed  of  finding  any  one 

130 


The  House  of  Decay 

here ;  I  thought  the  place  was  vacant.  Who  keeps  the 
dog?" 

' '  Anita.  Did  you  think  no  one  lived  here  ? ' '  The 
girl's  lazy  manner  showed  a  touch  of  amusement. 

"Certainly,"  said  Kate.  "I  looked  through  the 
bushes  up  there  by  the  street,  and  saw  the  house.  I 
knew  no  one  could  be  living  in  it,  so  I  came  in  by  the 
road — does  some  one  live  here  on  the  place?" 

The  girl  laughed  her  soft  laugh.  "Oh,  yes!  We 
live  here — in  the  house." 

"You!  There!"  Kate  exclaimed.  She  turned 
and  looked  up  at  the  dilapidated  building,  and  her 
large,  thoughtful  eyes  came  back  to  the  girl's  face  in 
silent  questioning.  At  first  glance  she  looked  a  child, 
for  she  was  small  and  slight,  and  the  full  kimono  and 
her  mass  of  hair  concealed  her  figure,  but  Kate  ob- 
served now  that  her  throat  was  full,  and  her  bust 
rounded,  the  soft  curve  of  womanhood.  The  lan- 
guorous light  in  her  sleepy  eyes  all  but  concealed  the 
vivid  flash  that  lay  in  their  depths,  just  as  her  lazy 
ease  of  motion  held  but  a  mere  touch  of  the  lithe 
energy  of  movement  that  Kate  had  seen  a  moment  be- 
fore. Her  hair  and  very  straight  brows  were  black, 
her  skin  clear  with  a  touch  of  carmine  in  cheeks  and 
lips.  Her  face  was  oval,  the  mouth  too  large  for 
beauty,  but  the  dimple  at  each  corner,  and  the  white 
regularity  of  perfect  teeth  redeemed  it.  Her  eyes 
were  perhaps  her  most  noticeable  feature,  for  they 

131 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

were  heavy  lidded,  set  wide  apart,  and  so  dark  a  blue 
as  to  be  almost  black.  The  silk  of  her  kimono  was  soft 
and  rich,  and  the  dainty  high-heeled  slippers  she  dis- 
played when  chaining  the  dog  had  caught  Kate's  eye. 
She  had  chanced  upon  a  something  far  more  interest- 
ing than  the  old  house. 

She  smiled  again  at  the  girl,  her  eyes  still  grave. 
"I  begin  to  think  I  have  wandered  into  an  enchanted 
garden — are  you  its  fairy  ? ' '  she  asked.  ' '  I  have  never 
seen  anything  more  lovely  than  the  picture  you  made, 
sitting  there  in  the  sun. ' ' 

The  girl  flushed  with  pleasure.  "I  was  just  dry- 
ing my  hair,"  she  explained,  "and  if  I  were  a  fairy, 
I  wouldn't  have  this  for  my  garden."  Her  lip  curled 
a  little  as  she  looked  around.  "It's  an  awful  place, 
isn't  it?" 

"No,  it  is  interesting  in  a  way,"  said  the  elder 
woman,  "but  it  is  dreary — it  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
just  left  to  go  to  ruin." 

•  "It  has,"  said  the  girl.  "Nobody  cares.  Inez 
and  Anita  live  in  the  corner  of  the  house — on  the  other 
side — you  can't  see  it  from  here — and  the  people  who 
own  the  place  never  come  near  it. ' ' 

"Then  you  rent  it?"  said  Kate. 

"Yes,  I  guess  so,"  the  girl  replied,  uncertainly. 
"Anita's  lived  here  for  years.  She  looks  after  the 
place." 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  ask  her  pardon  for  walking 

132 


The  House  of  Decay 

in  as  I  did,  but  I  am  not  going  to  feel  sorry  for  it, 
for  you  see  I  have  met  you.  May  I  ask  your  name  ? ' ' 
Kate 's  voice  was  frank  and  sweet,  and  the  girl  flushed 
again  with  pleasure,  alive  to  a  charm  few  could  resist. 

"Paquita  Payne,"  she  said,  half  shyly. 

"Paquita  Payne "  Kate  repeated,  slowly, 

and  paused  before  she  continued,  "and  I  am  Miss 
Talworth.  I  don't  really  live  here  in  the  city, 
but  I  come  often  with  a  friend.  She  always  has  so 
much  to  do  here,  and  I  have  very  little,  so  I  scarcely 
know  what  to  do  with  my  time.  I  walk  and  ride 
about,  but  there  is  not  much  to  see.  Have  you  always 
lived  here?" 

"Yes,  here," — the  girl  nodded  at  the  house — "and 
at  The  Sisters'," — she  pointed  city- ward.  "Then  for 
two  years  I  lived  at  St.  Mary's,  at  the  school  in  San 
Francisco. ' '  She  spoke  the  last  with  a  touch  of  pride. 
"I  just  came  home  yesterday." 

' '  I  know  St.  Mary 's, ' '  said  Kate  Talworth.  ' '  Were 
you  sorry  to  come  away?" 

"No,"  the  girl  replied,  softly.  The  color  flashed 
into  her  cheeks  and  the  light  into  her  eyes.  "No — oh, 
no!"  she  repeated.  "I  am  glad  to  be  back." 

Kate  studied  the  girl's  half  averted  face  with  a 
slight  compression  of  the  lips,  her  eyes  sombre,  but  her 
voice  was  very  gentle.  "One  feels  in  a  great  hurry 
to  begin  life,  Paquita;  it  is  a  pity  there  is  so  much 
time  later  on  to  reconsider "  She  lifted  her  shoul- 

133 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

ders,  her  manner  changing  to  one  of  amusement. 
"Heavens!  I  mumble  like  a  grandmother!  ...  I 
wonder  if  you  would  let  me  see  the  front  of  the  house  ? 
Perhaps  I  could  reach  a  street  if  I  went  down  through 
the  grounds  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill?" 

"Yes,  there's  a  car  not  far  from  the  gate  down 
there.  I'll  take  you  around  the  grounds,  and  into 
the  school-room — Anita's  not  here."  She  put  the  kit- 
tens down,  and  gathering  the  skirt  of  her  wrapper  in 
one  hand,  led  the  way.  "I  daren't  take  you  any- 
where else  but  just  into  the  school-room,"  she  ex- 
plained over  her  shoulder,  "for  Inez  would  hear  the 
noise. ' ' 

"Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  let  you  take  me  at  all  if 
she  objects?"  Kate  said. 

"If  they  never  know,  what's  the  difference,"  Pa- 
quita  replied,  with  easy  philosophy, ' '  the  place  doesn  't 
belong  to  them  anyway."  She  had  gone  on  to  the 
wide  terrace  on  which  the  house  stood,  turning  to  ex- 
plain, "All  this  back  there  was  garden  once,  rose- 
bushes and  shrubs.  When  I  was  here,  before  I  went 
away  to  San  Francisco,  a  lot  of  the  roses  were  alive 
yet,  but  there's  only  one  or  two  left  now.  The  road 
that  you  came  down  goes  around  here  to  the  front 
of  the  house,  and  then  on  the  terraces  till  it  gets  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  hill — see,  you  can't  see  when  it 
reaches  the  bottom,  because  there  are  so  many  eucalyp- 
tus trees.  It  goes  out  to  the  street  there,  though." 

134 


The  House  of  Decay 

They  had  come  round  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
Kate  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"How  beautiful!"  she  said,  "but  what  a  pity!" 
The  rather  steep  slope  of  the  hill  had  been  broken 
by  a  succession  of  terraces,  partly  natural,  partly 
supported  by  stonework,  the  road  winding  back  and 
forth  on  the  terraces  as  Paquita  had  said,  until  it 
reached  the  hollow  a  long  distance  below.  A  row  of 
huge  peppers,  and  groups  of  cypress  hid  entirely  from 
the  front  of  the  house  the  encampment  of  oil-derricks 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  grounds  extended  to 
the  verge  of  the  arroyo.  There  was  an  almost  sheer 
drop  there  to  the  group  of  shanties  Kate  had  passed 
on  her  way  up,  and  from  the  house  not  even  their 
roofs  could  be  seen.  From  where  the  two  stood  they 
looked  across  the  defile  into  a  second  gap  between  the 
hills,  catching  a  sparkling  glimpse  of  the  white  city 
in  the  far  distance.  In  the  hollow  directly  below  them 
the  eucalyptus  had  grown  so  tall  as  to  shut  out  the 
view  of  the  intervening  country,  but  the  blue  line  of 
mountains  appeared  above  them.  In  the  brilliant 
sunshine  of  the  June  afternoon,  they  stood  out  clearly, 
the  scars  and  the  piles  of  boulders  showing  as  gray 
patches  on  the  deep  blue.  Shrubs  and  flower-beds, 
ornamental  trees  and  vines,  and  broken  stone-work, 
all  showed  wilful  and  long-continued  neglect.  The 
vines  lacked  support  and  trailed  on  the  ground,  the 

trees  were  broken  and  twisted,  the  flower-beds  masses 

135 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

of  weeds  and  tall  grass.  The  green  of  winter  was 
gone,  and  the  yellow  of  summer  rested  on  everything. 

"What  a  pity,"  Kate  murmured  again;  "it  might 
be  made  so  lovely.  What  is  the  name  of  the  people 
who  own  the  place?" 

"The  Paynes,"  said  the  girl.  "They  had  four 
hundred  acres,  all  this  land  about  here,  they  have  a 
lot  of  it  yet,  and  they  built  this  house,  the  part  where 
the  roof  is  gone,  first,  and  made  it  a  beautiful  place — 
it  was  a  long  way  out  of  town  then.  Something  or 
other  dreadful  happened  in  the  house,  and  Anita  says 
the  family  went  to  pieces — I  don't  know  exactly 
about  it,  but  the  next  thing  one  of  them  had  a  big 
wing,  the  side  in  which  we  live,  built,  and  it  was  a 
school  for  a  long  time — until  it  began  to  go  to  pieces. 
Then  Anita  came  to  live  in  it." 

* '  The  Paynes — yes — ' '  Kate  said,  slowly.  ' '  I  have 
been  wondering  if  it  were  possible — and  you  are  re- 
lated to  them — of  course?" 

"Yes,"  said  Paquita,  Then  she  shrugged.  "But 
I  am  a  poor  relation,  though;  I  haven't  anything  to  do 
with  all  this,"  and  she  swept  the  ruin  about  them 
with  a  comprehensive  gesture. 

Kate  made  no  reply,  but  she  studied  the  girl 's  face 
again  with  her  thoughtful  look,  her  cheeks  flushing; 
then  lifting  her  eyes  her  gaze  travelled  along  the  front 
of  the  building.  ' '  I  suppose  these  wide  doors  that  are 
boarded  up  were  put  in  when  it  was  made  a  school  ? ' ' 

136 


The  House  of  Decay 

"Yes, — and  do  you  see,  two  of  the  boards  are 
loose;  I'll  move  them  and  you  can  go  in  and  see  the 
school-room  if  you  like." 

Kate  made  a  quick  gesture  of  refusal.  "Oh,  no, 
we  won't  go  in!"  she  said,  and  then  she  smiled  at  the 
girl's  surprised  look.  "Don't  you  think  the  sunshine 
is  nicer?  If  you  will  walk  down  the  hill  with  me  a 
little  way  when  I  go,  I  shall  like  that  the  best  of  all. ' ' 

"You  can  look  in  the  window  then,"  Paquita 
said.  "See,  the  board  has  a  big  crack — that  is  the 
school-room. ' '  She  had  gone  on  a  few  yards  and  stood 
on  tiptoe,  peering  in  through  the  wide  crack,  and  Kate 
joined  her.  It  was  an  immense  room,  the  ceiling  sup- 
ported by  several  big  white  pillars.  The  floor  was 
broken  and  littered  with  debris  that  had  fallen  from 
above,  and  the  walls  were  darkened  and  stained  by  the 
rains  of  the  winter,  and  bare  of  plaster  in  patches; 
it  was  vast  and  gloomy,  a  place  of  desolation.  The 
girl  looked  in  upon  it  indifferently,  her  rosy  cheek 
against  the  rough  window-sill,  and  Kate's  eyes  rested 
on  her  curiously  and  sadly. 

"It  was  rather  a  gloomy  home  for  you,  Paquita, 
wasn't  it?  Did  you  play  all  alone  in  those  big 
rooms?"  she  asked.  They  had  turned  away,  follow- 
ing the  road  down  to  the  terrace. 

The  girl  gave  her  one  of  her  quick  looks,  but  the 
elder  woman's  eyes  held  nothing  but  tenderness,  and 

137 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

she  shrugged  a  little  with  an  attempt  at  indifference 
as  she  answered,  "It  was  all  I  had.  I  guess  I  didn't 
mind  when  I  was  little;  it  was  a  change  from  The 
Sisters'  and  going  to  school — I  hated  school." 

They  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  arroyo  where  the 
road  turned  upon  the  terrace,  and  Kate  stopped. 
' '  That  is  a  beautiful  view  across  the  arroyo, ' '  she  said. 
"It  must  be  wonderful  when  the  lights  come  out  at 
night.  They  must  be  sprinkled  all  over  the  hill- 
sides, clear  through  to  the  city.  Is  that  your  looking- 
out  place  ? ' '  She  pointed  to  a  small  arbor  that  stood 
on  a  natural  shelf  a  short  way  down  on  the  steep 
side  of  the  arroyo.  An  immense  purple  Bougainvillea 
covered  the  rustic  -work  so  that  it  looked  scarcely  more 
than  a  mound  of  leaves  and  blossom. 

The  color  flamed  suddenly  in  the  girl 's  cheeks,  and 
she  stood  looking  down  at  it,  hesitating  for  a  moment ; 
then  she  asked,  "AVould  you  like  to  see  it?"  Her 
eyes  were  as  bright  as  when  she  had  said  she  "was 
glad  to  be  back."  Kate  thought  that  she  was  really 
beautiful  when  her  face  grew  vivid  as  it  was  at  that 
moment.  "We  have  to  go  down  this  way,"  she  con- 
tinued, tripping  down  the  steep  bank  much  as  if 
she  had  wings  attached  to  her  small  feet,  instead  of 
high-heeled  slippers.  Kate  followed  her  more  slowly, 
and  they  stood  on  the  ledge  looking  over  the  valley. 

"Do  you  see  that  path?"  Paquita  said,  pointing 
to  the  incline  below  them.  "It  goes  almost  straight 

138 


The  House  of  Decay 

down,  and  then  turns  and  comes  out  below  the  terraces 
in  the  eucalyptus  grove.  When  I  wanted  to  go  down 
to  the  shanties  to  play  with  the  children,  I  used  to  go 
that  way,  for  Anita  couldn't  follow  me."  Her  eyes 
were  dancing,  and  she  caught  her  kimono  about  her, 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  ledge  as  if  poised  for 
flight.  "Whew!  it  was  like  flying  to  jump  and  run 
down!" 

"Please  don't  do  it  now,"  Kate  exclaimed,  more 
than  half  seriously. 

"No,"  said  Paquita,  "not  now."  She  dropped 
her  skirts,  her  manner  deliberate  on  the  instant,  her 
eyes  sleepy  again,  her  voice  slow.  "Look,  I  have 
brought  you  down  to  see  my  house — do  you  think  it's 
pretty?"  She  had  caught  back  the  vine  and  drew 
to  one  side,  while  Kate  looked  in.  It  was  a  little 
place,  built  of  eucalyptus  logs,  the  roof  thatched  with 
palm  leaves,  and  so  covered  with  the  dense  vine  that 
nothing. of  the  framework  could  be  seen  from  with- 
out. There  was  a  rough  floor  of  some  kind  that  was 
covered  with  matting  and  a  brilliant  Navajo  blanket; 
the  rustic  table  and  a  wide  bench  were  also  covered 
with  the  gay  blankets.  There  was  a  pile  of  cushions 
on  the  bench  and  a  guitar  on  the  table.  The  walls 
and  even  the  roof  were  decorated  with  pampas  grass, 
the  delicate  white  plumes  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  gay 
colors  of  the  bright  blankets,  and  the  red  and  yellow 
of  the  Japanese  lantern  that  hung  from  the  ceiling. 

139 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Kate  thought  as  she  looked  that  it  was  a  fit  setting 
for  the  warm  coloring  of  the  girl  at  her  side. 

' '  I  cleaned  house  and  trimmed  it  up  this  morning, ' ' 
said  Paquita,  "and  then  I  had  to  wash  my  hair.  This 
is  my  parlor.  I  haven't  any  in  that  musty  place  up 
there.  I  can  come  here  and  be  away  from  Anita 
and  Inez  as  much  as  I  want  to — won't  you  sit  down 
on  my  couch  ?  See,  it  is  soft  and  comfortable. ' '  Kate 
sat  down,  and  the  girl  curled  herself  up  on  the  bench 
with  a  movement  that  had  all  the  grace  of  a  kitten. 
"See,  I  can  lie  here  and  look  straight  over  into  the 
middle  of  the  city."  It  was  so;  the  white  buildings 
that  away  in  the  distance  shone  in  the  brilliant  sun 
were  the  busiest  beehives  of  the  city,  the  centre  of  the 
vortex. 

"You  have  a  wonderful  bower,"  Kate  said.  "I 
wonder  if  you  will  let  me  come  and  sit  in  it  again 
with  you?  I  told  you  that  I  come  here  often,  and  I 
would  like  when  I  am  here  again  to  come  and  see 

you — perhaps "  she  hesitated,  "if  you  like  to 

motor — I  could  take  you  some  time?" 

The  girl's  eyes  widened,  half  in  wonder,  half  in 
delight.  "I  would  love  to  go,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
know  anybody  here — who  wants  to  know  people  who 
live  in  such  a  place ! ' '  Her  eyes  were  aflame.  ' '  They 
would  think  I  was  a  cholo  like  Anita  and  those 
people  down  there  in  the  arroyo — but  I  am  not.  I 
don't  know  why  we  live  here.  Inez  says  we  must, 

140 


The  House  of  Decay 

we  're  poor  and  have  to,  and  she  doesn  't  care,  for  she 
is  a  cripple  and  can't  walk;  but  the  girls  I  knew  at  St. 
Mary's — I  never  told  them  just  where  I  lived,  for 
I  was  ashamed  of  it.  They  thought  I  was  better  off 
than  I  was,  for  Inez  would  send  me  money  sometimes, 
and  I  would  buy  things  I  liked  to  wear,  like  this,  but 
then  again  I  wouldn't  have  a  cent  for  a  long  time — 
most  of  the  time  I  didn't.  I  didn't  mind  such  things 
before  I  went  away,  I  was  too  little  to  think  about  it." 
She  bent  forward,  rocking  her  body  as  she  talked,  her 
hands  clasping  her  ankles,  her  expression  grown  eager 
under  the  elder  woman's  sympathetic  attention. 
"When  I  was  little  I  was  alone  here  with  Anita — 
when  I  wasn't  at  The  Sisters'.  Then  Inez  came, 
and  she  took  me  away  from  The  Sisters'  and  I 
stayed  here  all  the  time — for  over  a  year — until  they 
sent  me  away — up  to  school  in  San  Francisco.  It 
just  seemed  a  great  big  place  to  play  in  then,  but 
when  I  came  back  it  looked  the  way  it  really  is — just 
dreadful ! ' '  She  stopped,  drawing  her  breath  quickly. 

"Yes,"  the  elder  woman  said,  softly,  and  with  a 
look  of  understanding.  "You  were  a  child  then,  and 
now  you  are  a  woman.  How  old  are  you,  Paquita?" 

"I  am  fifteen." 

"Fifteen — are  you! — And — and  is  Inez  your  near- 
est relation  ? ' ' 

"She's  not  a  relation  at  all,"  Paquita  said,  sharply, 

141 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"she's  Spanish.  She  just  looks  after  me,  that's  all. 
Mr.  Payne  is  my  relation — he  is  my  guardian. ' ' 

"You  are  an  orphan  then,  dear?"  Kate  said, 
gently. 

The  girl's  brows  lowered  and  her  mouth  grew 
sullen  in  anger.  "No — "  she  said,  reluctantly.  She 
looked  doubtfully  at  Kate,  but  the  flushed  interest  in 
the  elder  woman's  face  was  too  genuine  for  doubt, 
and  the  girl  colored  hotly.  "I  don't  know  about 
my  father  and  mother,"  she  said.  "I  asked  Inez 
once  and  she  wouldn't  tell  me,  and  I  never  asked  her 
again,  but  she  gets  into  a  rage  sometimes,  and  then  she 
talks.  She  told  me  that  I  wasn't  an  orphan,  that  my 
parents  had  forsaken  me,  and  she  had  taken  me.  She 
said  that  Mr.  Payne  was  a  distant  relative  of  mine 
and  that  they  had  put  me  at  The  Sisters'.  I  don't 
believe  a  word  she  says — ever — "  Paquita  exclaimed, 
passionately,  "but  I  asked  Mr.  Payne,  afterwards, 
and  he  said  it  was  so.  If  my  people  wanted  to  for- 
sake me,  they  might  have  left  me  to  some  one  who 
wanted  me — Inez  never  did. ' '  She  spoke  bitterly,  her 
lips  trembling. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Miss  Tal worth.  Her  eyes  had 
grown  wide  with  unshed  tears.  She  leaned  over  and 
laid  her  white  hand  on  the  girl's  slender  brown  one. 
"I  know  what  it  is  like,  you  see,  for  I  didn't  belong 
to  anybody  either  when  I  was  a  girl.  It's  not  the 
way  for  a  girl  to  be — it  is  the  worst  possible  thing 

142 


The  House  of  Decay 

for  her.  Do  you  think  about  the  future  sometimes, 
Paquita,  and  what  you  will  do?" 

"I  don't — know — "  the  girl  replied,  hesitating. 
Her  eyes  had  left  Kate's,  and  she  gazed  out  over  the 
arroyo  to  the  distant  glimpse  of  city.  "I  can 
dance — — "  Her  lips  parted  over  her  teeth  in  a 
slow  smile,  the  dimples  in  her  cheeks  deepening. 
"Perhaps — I  won't  always  belong  to  nobody." 

Kate  drew  a  quick  inaudible  breath;  then  she 
smiled.  "Perhaps  there  is  some  one  now?"  she  said, 
lightly. 

Paquita  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  sleepy  again,  her 
voice  slow.  "No  indeed,"  she  answered,  and  she 
smiled  a  little.  "I  wore  my  hair  down  in  a  braid, 
and  short  dresses  till  this  spring — then  I  wouldn't 
any  longer;  I'm  not  a  baby,  if  I  am  small.  Mr. 
Payne  will  be  surprised  when  he  sees  me — he  hasn't 
seen  me  for  over  a  year." 

"I  don't  think  the  braid  and  short  dresses  have 
much  to  do  with  it,"  Kate  said  a  little  sadly.  "We 
some  of  us  begin  dreaming  when  we  are  babies.  At 
fifteen  I  was  even  more  of  a  woman  than  you  are, 
Paquita,  and  now  I  am  nearly  thirty-two,  and  I  am 
dreaming  yet,  I  suppose."  She  flushed  more  deeply 
as  she  spoke.  She  paused  a  moment,  then  asked, 
"Is  it  Mr.  Horton  Payne  who  is  your  guardian?  I 
know  a  Mr.  Horton  Payne." 

Paquita  gave  her  a  quick  look.    "I  don't  know 

143 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

him,"  she  said.    "I  never  heard  his  name  before — 
Mr.  James  Payne  is  my  guardian." 

"James — Payne — "  Kate  repeated,  with  a  puzzled 
air;  then  her  brows  lifted,  her  eyes  widening  as  she 
looked  at  the  girl.  She  rose  suddenly,  and  Paquita 
sprang  off  the  couch  with  one  of  her  unexpectedly 
quick  movements. 

"Must  you  go?"  she  said,  regretfully. 

"Indeed  I  must — I  ought  to  have  started  back 
before,"  Kate  said,  hurriedly;  then  she  added  with 
a  return  to  her  usual  manner, ' '  but  I  may  come  again, 
may  I  not?"  Her  smile  was  sweet  in  its  appeal. 

' '  Oh,  I  hope  you  will ! ' '  Paquita  exclaimed.  ' '  And 
— and  take  me  riding?" 

"Yes  indeed  I  shall.  I  am  going  away  early  to- 
morrow, but  I  intend  to  come  back  right  away.  .  .  . 
You  see,  I  am  alone,  too,  Paquita,  without  relatives, 
I  mean,  and  I  have  thought  while  we  were  talking 
that  we  ought  to  be  friends — when  we  know  each 
other  better.  So  I  shall  come  again  in  a  day  or  two, 
if  I  may."  She  smiled  brightly  at  the  girl,  her  eyes 
wistful. 

Paquita 's  face  grew  vivid  again  with  pleasure. 
"I  hope  you  will!"  she  repeated,  eagerly. 

Shall  we  go  up  to  the  terrace  now  ? ' '  Kate  asked. 
"I  think  I  will  not  try  your  'Angel's  Flight'  down 
that  path  to  the  gate."  They  climbed  up  the  bank, 
and  said  good-by.  "Don't  dream  too  many  dreams, 

144 


The  House  of  Decay 

Paquita, ' '  Kate  said,  in  parting,  and  the  girl  dimpled 
and  shook  her  head.  She  stood  on  the  upper  terrace, 
watching  until  the  gray  of  Kate 's  gown  mingled  with 
the  gray  of  the  eucalyptus  trunks  in  the  hollow  below. 
Then  catching  up  her  skirts  she  whirled  and  pirouetted 
toward  the  gloomy  house,  her  eyes  shining. 

She  paused  beneath  a  row  of  upper  windows  that 
were  glazed  and  curtained,  and  stood  still  a  moment 
looking  up.  "The  cat!"  she  said,  with  a  return  to 
her  usual  lazy  manner.  "Ah,  bah!" 

She  pushed  open  a  door  and  entered  a  small  pas- 
sageway at  the  end  of  which  was  a  narrow  flight  of 
stairs.  Bending  and  slipping  off  her  shoes  she  crept 
softly  up  the  steps,  her  movements  as  cautious  as  an 
Indian's.  They  brought  her  out  on  a  landing,  evi- 
dently a  portion  of  the  wide  hallway  that  ran  the 
length  of  the  house.  It  had  been  partitioned  off  from 
the  rest  of  the  hallway  to  form  a  landing  upon  which 
several  doors  opened.  The  girl  cast  a  quick  look  over 
her  shoulder  at  one  of  the  doors  as  she  gently  opened 
another  that  was  directly  opposite.  She  stood  a 
moment  on  the  threshold  listening,  and  then  entered 
the  room,  softly  locking  the  door  behind  her. 


10 


V. 

SCHEMES,  SCHEMES! 

THE  room  Paquita  entered  was  large  and  high- 
ceilinged  with  high,  narrow  windows,  two  looking  out 
upon  the  tangled  growth  of  shrubs  and  dead  rose- 
bushes at  the  back,  the  others  commanding  a  wonder- 
ful view  out  over  the  arroyo.  At  this  height  the  roofs 
and  chimneys  of  the  Spanish  houses  could  be  seen, 
and  also  the  view  down  the  second  gorge.  The  walls 
of  the  room  had  been  tinted  red  at  one  time,  but  much 
usage  and  several  leaks  from  the  roof  had  turned 
them  a  mottled  brick  color.  The  furniture  was  a 
curious  collection,  a  mixture  of  old  and  new;  two  or 
three  huge  old  mahogany  chairs,  and  a  couch,  the  up- 
holstering ragged  and  worn,  a  wicker  rocker,  and  a 
cheap  iron  bed  with  a  brilliant  Indian  blanket  for  a 
counterpane.  A  rough  chest  of  drawers,  and  a  trunk 
stood  against  the  wall,  and  between  two  of  the  win- 
dows was  an  immense  old  mirror  in  a  highly  decor- 
ated, wide  gilt  frame.  The  well-worn  boards  of  the 
floor  were  without  covering,  but  there  had  evidently 
been  some  attempt  to  make  the  room  livable,  for  there 
were  white  curtains  at  the  windows  and  inner  hang- 
ings of  red. 

Paquita  put  her  slippers  on  again,  and  taking  a 
brush  from  the  chest  of  drawers,  began  to  brush  her 

146 


Schemes,  Schemes! 

long  hair.  It  was  very  thick  and  soft  in  texture,  and 
she  dressed  it  high  on  her  head  in  a  loose  pompadour, 
twisting  and  patting  it  with  skilful  fingers.  Next  she 
opened  the  trunk  and  took  out  two  dresses,  laying 
them  on  the  bed.  Then  standing  before  the  mirror 
she  held  first  one  and  then  the  other  against  herself, 
carefully  surveying  the  effect.  One  was  light  blue, 
and  the  other  a  flame  red,  fuller  and  longer  in  the 
skirt  than  the  blue. 

This  she  scrutinized  for  some  time,  turning  it  this 
way  and  that,  her  brow  knitted  in  anxious  thought. 
It  was  of  silk,  cut  low  in  the  neck,  and  made  in  Em- 
pire fashion,  the  short  sleeves  a  mass  of  chiffon  ruffles. 
She  rummaged  in  the  chest  of  drawers  until  she  found 
a  lace  scarf  that  age  had  yellowed  to  a  dull  ivory  tint, 
and  laying  it  against  the  gown,  she  studied  the  effect. 
Then  drawing  the  red  curtains  until  the  light  of  the 
room  was  subdued,  she  came  back  and  throwing  off  her 
kimono,  put  on  the  gown  and  laid  the  lace  across  her 
shoulders.  As  she  stood  before  the  mirror  she  made  a 
picture  of  warm  beauty, — the  dusky  mass  of  her  hair, 
the  clear  coloring  of  her  skin,  the  dreamy  light  in  her 
large  eyes,  her  red  lips,  and  the  creamy  gleam  of  her 
neck  and  shoulders,  only  half  concealed  by  the  lace. 
The  twilight  of  the  room  softened  the  flame  red  of  her 
gown  to  a  warm  tint,  and  Paquita's  brow  smoothed, 
and  she  smiled  as  she  gazed  at  the  vision  of  herself. 
She  was  satisfied. 

147 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

As  she  turned  from  the  mirror  some  one  entered 
the  passageway  below,  and  came  heavily  up  the  stairs, 
and  Paquita  listened,  her  eyes  on  her  locked  door. 
The  footsteps  paused  on  the  landing,  and  the  door 
opposite  was  opened  and  closed,  a  murmur  of  voices 
following.  "Anita,"  the  girl  said  to  herself.  She 
took  off  the  gown  and  laid  it  on  the  bed,  then  searching 
in  the  trunk  until  she  found  a  pair  of  red  silk  stock- 
ings and  slippers,  she  put  them  beside  the  dress. 
Gathering  the  other  garments  together,  she  thrust 
them  into  the  trunk  and  closed  and  locked  it.  Taking 
a  cigarette  then  from  a  box  on  the  chest  of  drawers 
and  lighting  it,  she  stretched  herself  on  the  couch  at 
the  window,  her  small  feet  on  one  dingy  cushion,  her 
head  on  another,  her  body  supine,  every  muscle  re- 
laxed. She  fixed  her  half  closed  eyes  on  the  distant 
glimpse  of  the  city,  and  lay  very  still,  the  lifting  and 
dropping  of  the  hand  that  held  the  cigarette  her  only 
movement. 

She  lay  quiet  but  not  sleeping  for  a  long  time,  and 
the  sun  had  begun  to  dip  toward  the  west,  casting 
lengthening  shadows  on  the  ground,  when  she  stirred. 
A  quick  step  had  sounded  beneath  her  window,  and 
she  lifted  her  head,  her  look  surprised  and  eager. 
Some  one  pushed  open  the  door  below,  and  came 
quickly  up  the  stairs,  pausing  on  the  landing  to  knock 
sharply  on  the  door  of  the  other  room.  Paquita 
slipped  her  feet  to  the  floor,  her  head  bent,  listening, 

148 


Schemes,  Schemes! 

until  she  caught  the  faint  "come  in,"  and  the  man's 
greeting  as  he  shut  the  door  behind  him.  "Hello, 
Inez,  how  are  you  ? ' ' 

She  stood  up  a  moment,  undecided,  glancing  down 
at  her  kimono,  then  as  if  having  made  up  her  mind, 
sank  down  again  on  the  couch,  though  keenly  alive  still 
to  the  sounds  in  the  next  room.  There  was  a  con- 
tinued murmur  of  voices,  the  man's  deeper  tones  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  woman's.  Then  the  voices 
dropped,  and  there  was  silence,  at  least  Paquita  could 
hear  nothing,  and  when  it  had  lasted  a  long  time  she 
became  impatient,  frowning  as  she  observed  the  rap- 
idly lengthening  shadows  without. 

The  silence  was  broken  suddenly,  for  the  man's 
step  crossed  the  room,  and  he  opened  the  door  into 
the  hall.  "Paquita,  Paquita!"  he  called.  She  did 
not  hasten  to  answer,  but  smoothed  her  hair  before 
the  glass,  her  expression  unusually  sleepy. 

"Paquita!"  he  called,  more  loudly. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  from  her  place  before  the 
mirror. 

"You  in  your  room?  Come  out  here  and  say 
good-day  to  me — you  know  who  it  is  don't  you?" 
He  had  stepped  out  on  the  landing. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  note  of  surprise,  "is  it  you? 
I'll  be  there  in  a  minute."  She  lifted  the  Indian 
blanket  from  the  bed,  and  laid  her  brilliant  gown 

149 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

under  it,  carefully  covering  it,  then  went  out  to  the 
landing. 

The  man  had  gone  back  into  the  other  room,  and 
she  entered,  her  eyes  seeking  his  face  with  a  look  of 
faint  surprise.  The  room  was  a  large  one  like  her 
own,  but  the  tinting  on  the  walls  was  fresher,  and 
the  furniture  modern  and  comfortable.  Drawn  up 
near  one  of  the  windows  was  a  large  wheeling  chair, 
the  back  lowered  so  that  the  woman  who  occupied  it 
lay  almost  flat.  Her  head  was  raised  by  the  pillows 
so  that  her  brilliant  eyes  could  see  the  girl  when  she 
came  in,  and  she  watched  her  intently  as  she  came 
forward  and  gave  her  hand  to  the  man.  He  stood 
a  short  distance  away,  and  the  woman  enveloped  him 
in  her  burning  gaze.  He  was  tall  and  extremely 
handsome,  his  fair  hair  touched  with  gray,  giving  his 
unlined  face  an  air  of  dignity,  and  distinction;  his 
brow  was  broad,  his  eyes  a  dark  blue  under  very 
straight  eyebrows,  the  nose  and  face  unusually  good 
in  line  and  contour.  Even  his  mouth  was  attractive, 
for  in  spite  of  an  inclination  to  coarseness,  its  smile 
was  ready  and  frank. 

"Well,"  he  said,  smiling  now,  as  he  held  Paquita's 
hand  and  looked  down  at  her,  "you  haven't  added 
many  inches  to  your  height  since  I  saw  you  last.  .  .  . 
But  look  at  the  grown-upness  of  her!"  He  took  her 
by  the  shoulders  and  held  her  off  at  arm's  length. 
"Hair  up  and  a  train — say,  Inez,"  he  continued,  turn- 

150 


Schemes,  Schemes! 

ing  to  the  woman,  "I  declare  she  is  something  of  a 
beauty. ' '  The  woman 's  pale  lips  parted  over  her  teeth 
in  a  mechanical  smile  that  accentuated  the  painful 
thinness  of  her  sallow  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  burned  if 
anything  more  brilliantly,  as  they  rested  on  the  girl. 
She  lifted  her  hand  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and 
brushed  back  from  her  forehead  a  strand  of  her  almost 
white  hair.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "and  she's  grown  wise 
in  proportion." 

Paquita's  sleepy  eyes  rested  on  her  for  a  space, 
a  gleam  in  their  depths,  and  the  man  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other,  laughing  a  little,  his  eyes  narrowing 
slightly  as  he  looked  down  at  the  girl. 

"You  are  just  the  same,  Mr.  Payne,"  she  said,  in 
her  slow  way.  "Did  you  bring  me  any  candy?" 

' '  Candy ! "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  Bless  me,  I  don 't  bring 
candy  to  young  ladies!  Sit  down  here  and  talk  to 
us,"  he  added,  pushing  a  chair  toward  her.  "I  have 
something  else  for  you,  though." 

She  shook  her  head  at  the  chair,  and  drawing  up 
a  stool,  sat  down,  crossing  her  knees  and  resting  her 
elbow  on  them,  her  chin  in  her  hand.  Taken  by  her 
the  position  was  a  graceful  one,  and  the  man's 
brows  lowered  again  as  he  watched  her.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "now  that  you  are  back  from  the  convent,  what 
next?  It's  too  bad  that  times  are  so  hard,  but  I 
agreed  with  Inez  that  the  expense  of  St.  Mary's  was 
too  much.  This  winter's  been  bad,  rotten  bad!"  he 

151 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

said,  with  emphasis.  "Money's  getting  as  tight  as  a 
drum,  and  everybody's  been  hard  put  to  it — Inez  did 
well  to  keep  you  there  as  long  as  she  did."  A  fold 
had  appeared  in  his  brow,  and  his  pleasant  voice  had 
gained  edge.  The  woman's  eyes  rested  on  him 
thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  know — "  said  Paquita,  slowly,  "would 
it  cost  much  for  me  to  stay  here ?" 

James  Payne  laughed  rather  shortly.  "Here? 
No,  but  Inez  thinks  you  won't  be  able  to  stand  it. 
.  .  .  How  are  you  getting  on  with  your  dancing?" 

Paquita  stirred,  her  eyes  widening  a  trifle.  ' '  Very 
well,"  she  said,  indifferently,  "but  I  need  more  prac- 
tice, and  that  costs." 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said.  "Well,  I  guess  it  will 
mean  that  you  stay  here  for  a  while  anyway,  but  if  a 
chance  offers  for  your  getting  an  engagement,  you 
would  better  take  it."  The  last  sentence  was  a 
question. 

"Yes — "  she  hesitated,  then  added  quietly,  "of 
course." 

The  woman  had  not  taken  part  in  the  conver- 
sation, but  now  she  asked  abruptly,  "Who  was  it  you 
were  talking  to,  down  in  the  garden  an  hour  or  two 
ago?" 

Paquita  looked  at  her  questioningly.  "Nobody," 
she  said,  with  her  air  of  surprise,  "unless  it  was 
Tiger.  Anita  wasn  't  here. ' ' 

152 


Schemes,  Schemes  I 

"I  heard  you  talking,"  said  Inez,  sharply,  "and 
Anita  saw  some  one  go  out  of  the  gate. ' ' 

"Perhaps  she  did,"  the  girl  returned  in  her  slow- 
est drawl,  "but  she  saw  more  than  I  did  then.  I 
had  Tiger  loose  and  the  kittens,  and  was  drying  my 
hair.  Who  was  it  Anita  saw?"  She  continued  to 
look  at  the  woman  inquiringly,  and  was  answered  with 
impatience. 

' '  I  don 't  know — some  woman.  I  thought  you  had 
seen  her  too." 

Paquita  shook  her  head,  and  turning  to  .the  man 
held  out  her  hand.  "Now,  what  is  it  you  brought 
me  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  would  forget, about  it, 
Miss  Payne,"  he  said,  teasingly. 

"Never!"  she  exclaimed,  laughing  softly. 

' '  There  then. ' '  He  took  something  from  his  purse, 
and  dropped  it  into  her  outstretched  hand.  It  was 
a  heavy  silver  ring  curiously  fashioned,  a  coiled  ser- 
pent, the  head  flattened  like  a  cobra's  and  resting 
on  the  coil  so  as  to  form  a  setting  for  a  pink  coral  ball. 
It  was  rather  coarse  in  workmanship,  and  not  at  all 
beautiful,  but  it  was  unique. 

Paquita  looked  at  it  in  surprise.  "What  a  strange 
nng!"  she  exclaimed,  examining  it  curiously. 

"It  was  your  mother 's, ' '  said  James  Payne.  ' '  You 
are  old  enough  to  have  it  now." 

153 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"Why  didn't  Inez  give  it  to  me  then?"  Paquita 
asked,  sharply. 

A  faint  smile  twitched  the  woman's  lips,  but 
James  Payne's  face  was  expressionless.  "Because  it 
didn't  belong  to  her.  Your  mother  gave  it  to  me 
years  ago,"  he  replied,  quietly.  "I  thought  you 
might  like  to  have  it." 

The  look  of  doubt  left  Paquita 's  face,  and  she 
flushed.  "I  am  glad  to  have  it,  of  course  I  am." 
Her  eyes  were  alight  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 
"Thank  you  for  giving  it  to  me.  I'll  take  care  of  it 
— always. ' ' 

He  shrugged  slightly.  "The  next  time  I  come  you 
will  tell  me  you've  lost  it." 

"Oh,  no,  I  won't!" 

"We  will  see,"  he  retorted.  "What  finger  will  it 
fit?" 

"I'll  wear  it  on  my  third  finger,  on  the  right 
hand,"  Paquita  said.  "It  won't  stay  on  now,  but  I 
will  wear  my  plain  ring  in  front  of  it  to  hold  it." 

"That's  a  good  idea — and  now  do  you  think  you 
and  Anita  between  you  could  get  me  a  cup  of  tea  ? ' ' 

' '  Of  course, ' '  Paquita  replied.  ' '  Will  you  stay  to 
supper?"  she  glanced  inquiringly  at  Inez,  but  he 
shook  his  head. 

"No,  thank  you,  I  haven't  time.  Just  the  tea, 
or  anything  else  you  have  to  drink — I  am  thirsty." 

Paquita  went  out,  and  James  Payne  brought  his 

154 


Schemes,  Schemes! 

chair  close  to  Inez,  bending  over  and  stroking  the  thin 
hand  that  lay  on  the  shawl.  "Sweetheart,"  he  mur- 
mured softly,  and  leaning  down  he  kissed  her  on  the 
lips.  A  quiver  of  pain  crossed  her  face,  and  she 
closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  lying  still.  He  took 
her  hand  and  held  it,  leaning  his  other  arm  on  her 
chair,  and  she  opened  her  eyes,  looking  into  his  face, 
a  look  restless  and  troubled. 

"Why  did  you  give  her  that  ring?"  she  asked,  in 
a  low  voice. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  still  holding  her  hand. 
"I  thought  it  was  best,"  he  said,  finally.  "Kate 
knows  that  ring  well." 

"You  have  made  up  your  mind,  then?" 

"Yes,  I  did  that  before  I  came  up  here." 

"Of  course!"  said  the  woman,  her  lips  twitching. 
He  looked  at  her  without  speaking,  and  there  was  a 
pause. 

' '  Paquita  was  lying  when  she  said  she  was  not  talk- 
ing to  any  one  down  there.  She  never  tells  me  the 
truth  if  she  can  help  it,"  Inez  said,  bitterly. 

"I  know  it,"  he  returned,  quietly. 

"She's  beyond  anything  since  she  came  back," 
Inez  continued,  her  voice  rising.  ' '  She  keeps  that  door 
of  hers  locked,  and  she'll  not  answer  or  come  out  if 
she  doesn  't  choose.  Last  night  Anita  pounded  for  ten 
minutes  on  it,  and  she  wouldn't  give  a  sign." 

"She  wasn't  going  to  believe  me  about  that  ring," 

155 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

he  said,  thoughtfully,  "and  it  is  plain  she  has  been 
doing  some  thinking  of  her  own.  She  would  rather 
stay  here  than  dance  for  a  living  as  I  threatened — 
why,  Enie,  she  will  be  wild  over  her  chance — think 
what  it  will  mean  to  her." 

"She  can  have  it,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
said  the  woman,  angrily, ' '  but  I  tell  you,  Jim,  she  will 
give  you  trouble,  I  know  it!" 

"She  won't  have  anything  to  make  trouble  over," 
the  man  replied,  unmoved.  ' '  She  is  in  the  dark,  and 
I  intend  that  she  shall  remain  so." 

Inez  moved  restlessly.  "Jim,  don't  meddle  with 
it,  don't,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  in  its  urgency. 
' '  Isn  't  there  any  other  way  ? ' ' 

"I  will  leave  it  to  you  if  there  is,"  he  rejoined, 
briefly.  "You  know  the  situation.  I  can't  hold  out 
much  longer.  I  must  have  money." 

"I  don't  like  it." 

"To  part  with  Paquita,  I  suppose,"  he  remarked, 
ironically. 

The  woman's  eyes  blazed.  "I  hate  the  sight  of 
her,  the "  she  said,  through  her  teeth. 

He  laughed  to  himself.  "Of  course."  Then  his 
manner  changed.  "Look  here,  Inez,"  he  said,  some- 
what contemptuously,  "don't  try  to  pretend  to  me. 
It  is  not  Paquita  you  are  thinking  of — is  it  now?" 
Then  he  laughed  again  and  leaning  over  kissed  the 
lips  she  strove  in  vain  to  keep  steady.  "Why,  Enie, 

153 


Schemes,  Schemes! 

Kate  hates  me  worse  than  the  devil,  and  why  shouldn't 
she?"  He  got  up  and  stood  looking  down  at  her, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "Foolish!"  he  said.  In 
spite  of  his  light  manner  there  was  an  undercurrent 
of  hardness  in  his  voice. 

"You  have  planned  it  for  years,"  Inez  said,  with 
difficulty.  "It's  always  that — schemes,  schemes!" 
She  moved  her  head  restlessly  on  the  pillow. 

' '  "Well, ' '  he  retorted,  more  sharply.  ' '  What  of  it  ? 
It's  not  like  you  to  flinch.  Good  Lord,  Inez,  you 
used  to  be  ready  enough  to  go  the  pace.  You  were  a 
rare  harness  mate — you  were !  I  wouldn  't  advise  you 
to  get  notional  now."  His  eyes  had  darkened  and 
narrowed,  his  mouth  coarsening,  the  open  look  and 
frank  smile  wiped  out.  The  gentleman  was  gone 
completely,  and  something  ugly  had  taken  its  place. 

The  woman  shrank  a  little.  "Yes,  you  can  travel 
just  the  same  as  you  used  to,  but  I  have  to  lie  here  and 

think "  she  spoke  in  smothered  tones.  James  Payne 

looked  at  her  a  moment,  his  brows  lifting,  a  look  of 
amusement  growing  in  his  face,  and  then  he  threw 
back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Inez!  The  idea  of  my  being  angry  with  you!" 
He  sat  down  again,  his  manner  half  pitying,  half 
caressing.  "Why,  Enie,  when  I  realized  my  bit  of 
good  luck — when  I  discovered  who  Kate  Talworth 
really  is — I  felt  weak  in  the  knees.  Perhaps  I  haven't 
been  put  to  it  this  winter !  I  have  gone  in  too  deep, 

157 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

and  on  my  word,  I  couldn't  see  any  way  out  but  to 
run,  and  how  would  it  be  for  you  and  PaQuita  then  ? 
I  have  gone  on  pure  nerve  just  about  as  long  as  I  can. 
.  .  .  Planned  it  for  years !  Why,  of  course,  I  have, 
just  on  general  principles,  but  to  strike  such  a  gold 

mine — just  now !"    He  laughed  softly,  his  face 

flushing.  Then  conscious  still  of  her  scrutiny,  he  leaned 
over  and  slipping  his  arm  under  her  head,  drew  her 
towards  him,  his  manner  grown  grave.  "Inez,"  he 
said,  "I  know  perfectly  well  what  you  are  thinking; 
it's  the  same  old  foolish  jealousy  and  you're  wrong — 
wrong,  do  you  hear,  absolutely.  Good  gracious! 
After  all  these  years  can't  you  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  so.  ...  Do  I  hurt  your  back  when  I  lift  you 
like  this?" 

"A  little — "  the  woman  gasped.  He  laid  her  back 
carefully  and  she  closed  her  eyes,  her  brow  drawn. 
He  watched  her  closely,  and  under  cover  of  his  arm 
looked  at  his  watch. 

' '  I  wish  I  could  do  a  single  thing  for  you, ' '  he  said, 
as  he  slipped  it  back  into  his  pocket.  "  If  we  come  out 
on  top,  Inez,  you're  going  to  have  a  different  place 
from  this,  and  I  will  get  the  best  doctor  I  can  for  you 
— I'll  get  Werner  down  from  San  Francisco." 

"It  wouldn't  do  any  good,  he  would  only  say  the 
same  as  the  rest.  .  .  .  Jim,  when  are  you  going  to 
Moneta?" 

"Not  for  a  week  or  so — not  till  I  have  been  up  to 
158 


Schemes,  Schemes! 

the  oil-fields,  and  had  time  to  find  out  a  few  things. 
From  all  accounts  old  Tal worth  left  her  a  pretty  pile." 

"And  Paquita?" 

"Oh,  I'll  talk  to  her  a  little  when  I  am  ready — 
I  will  find  out  from  her  before  I  go  who  it  was  she 
had  for  a  visitor  this  afternoon,  so  don't  you  bother 
her  about  it.  You  let  her  alone,  Inez.  Just  let  her 
amuse  herself  about  the  place.  She  has  no  money  has 
she?" 

"Not  a  cent — she  told  Anita  so.  If  she  had  she 
would  spend  it  on  silk  stockings,  or  something  else 
as  useful,"  Inez  sneered. 

James  Payne  laughed.  "Oh,  come,  Enie,  you're 
not  the  one  should  throw  stones,"  he  said.  "But 
don't  let  her  have  any  money;  she's  too  pretty  to  be 
going  down  town  alone."  He  had  risen  and  stood  look- 
ing down  on  her,  laughing  again  his  almost  inaudible 
laugh  that  had  something  cruel  in  its  softness.  "It's 
entertaining  the  way  Paquita  hates  you,"  he  re- 
marked. "I  think  she  lies  to  you  on  principle,  for 
the  pure  pleasure  of  deceiving  you,  and  having  you 
know  it.  She  is  pretty  straight  with  me  usually.  It's 
just  a  natural  instinct  showing  itself,  eh,  Inez?" 
Then  at  her  look  he  bent  and  kissed  her,  and  the 
woman  lifted  her  arm  suddenly  and  put  it  around  his 
neck,  holding  her  cheek  to  his,  her  eyes  grown  dim. 
"Poor  Enie,"  he  whispered,  softly. 


VI. 

ABOVE  THE  ARROYO 

IT  was  later  in  the  evening  and  the  sun  had  almost 
dropped  beneath  the  horizon,  casting  its  last  brilliant 
beams  through  the  spreading  branches  of  the  dark 
cypress  trees,  when  Paquita  gently  opened  her  door 
and  crept  out  upon  the  landing.  She  locked  it  behind 
her,  careful  of  every  sound.  There  was  perfect  quiet 
in  the  next  room,  and  stepping  lightly  in  the  bedroom 
slippers  she  wore,  she  went  to  the  rough  board  par- 
tition that  separated  this  corner  of  the  hallway  from 
the  rest,  and  kneeling,  loosened  two  nails  that  kept 
one  of  the  wide  boards  in  place.  Slipping  them  into 
the  pocket  of  the  coat  she  wore,  she  worked  at  the 
board,  drawing  it  out  from  under  the  strip  that  held 
it  in  place  at  the  top,  and  lifting  it  out,  crawled 
through  the  narrow  opening  into  the  length  of  corri- 
dor on  the  other  side.  The  opening  would  not  have 
admitted  anything  less  slender  and  lithe  than  her 
body. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  board  she  had  removed 
was  nailed  a  strip,  and  using  that  as  a  sort  of  handle, 
she  gradually  moved  the  board  back  into  the  opening, 
leaving  the  partition  to  all  appearances  intact.  She 
worked  quickly  and  accurately,  as  if  skilful  from 
practice;  then  turning  she  looked  down  the  corri- 

160 


Above  the  Arroyo 

dor.  It  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  house  with  nu- 
merous doors  opening  upon  it,  and  ended  in  a  wide 
arch  that  had  at  one  time  been  a  large  window,  but 
now  was  boarded  up.  It  evidently  gave  upon  the 
west,  for  the  setting  sun  shone  red  through  the  cracks 
of  the  boards. 

Half  way  down  the  corridor  was  another  wide, 
high  archway,  and  Paquita  moved  carefully  toward 
it.  There  was  need  of  care,  for  the  flooring  was  loose 
and  rotten,  in  several  places  so  broken  that  Paquita 
could  look  down  through  the  holes  into  the  vast  school- 
room below.  She  kept  close  to  the  wall,  evidently 
familiar  with  every  step  of  the  way,  till  she  came  to 
the  high  archway.  Here  the  wide  stairs  came  up  from 
below,  and  turning  led  up  to  the  third  story.  The 
steps,  like  the  floor  of  the  corridor,  were  broken,  some 
of  them  gone  altogether,  but  Paquita  picked  her  way 
lightly  and  cautiously,  and  gained  the  hall  below  in 
safety.  This  hall,  like  the  one  above,  was  wide  and 
high,  running  from  front  to  back  of  the  house.  The 
great  doors  that  led  into  the  school-room  were  closed, 
and  the  front  entrance  boarded  up,  so  that  it  was 
almost  dark  here;  but  Paquita  knew  her  way  about. 
She  lifted  down  from  a  niche  in  the  wall  a  cobwebbed 
bottle,  and  taking  a  candle  from  her  pocket  inserted 
it  into  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 

Next  she  took  the  two  nails  and  some  matches  from 
her  coat  pocket  and  placed  them  in  the  niche  beside 
11  161 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

the  bottle.  "The  rats  won't  get  them  there,"  she 
murmured,  laughing  quietly.  Going  back  to  the  steps 
she  seated  herself  and  took  off  her  bedroom  slippers, 
replacing  them  with  the  red  silk  ones  she  took  from 
the  other  pocket.  "There,"  she  said,  standing  up. 
She  gathered  her  cloak  closely  about  her,  and  going 
to  the  entrance  moved  aside  the  two  loose  boards, 
and  creeping  through,  drew  them  to  behind  her.  She 
stood  in  the  stone-paved  vestibule  without,  and  the 
terraces  lay  below  her,  golden  in  the  evening  light. 

She  crossed  the  driveway,  and  ran  lightly  down 
the  slope  to  the  next  terrace,  then  turning  went  on 
to  the  edge  of  the  arroyo,  stopping  behind  a  ragged 
mass  of  bush  acacia  just  above  the  little  arbor.  The 
spot  was  well  hidden  from  the  house  by  intervening 
shrubs  and  trees,  and  she  drew  her  cloak  about  her, 
sinking  into  a  sitting  posture,  her  knees  drawn  up  to 
her  chin,  her  hands  clasped  about  them.  Wrapped  in 
her  blanket-like  covering,  her  face  a  dusky  pallor  in 
its  setting  of  black  hair,  her  eyes  wide  and  watchful, 
she  looked  a  creature  of  the  forest  that  might  break 
into  guttural  speech,  or  creep  on  all  fours  deeper  into 
the  shadow. 

She  was  watching  the  strip  of  path  that  skirted  the 
steep  slope  below  the  arbor  and  led  into  the  eucalyptus 
grove.  It  was  very  still  about  her,  not  even  the  twit- 
ter of  a  bird  breaking  the  silence,  and  the  voices  of 
the  Spanish  children  in  the  arroyo,  and  the  screech  of 

162 


Above  the  Arroyo 

a  distant  street-car  as  it  turned  a  sharp  corner,  came 
distinctly  to  her  ears.  There  floated  up  to  her  the 
clear  tinkle  of  a  mandolin,  accompanied  the  next 
moment  by  the  softer  notes  of  a  guitar,  a  measure  light 
and  airy.  The  girl  turned  quickly,  looking  down  into 
the  arroyo.  Directly  below  her  in  the  hollow  was  a 
red-roofed  cottage,  more  decent  in  its  appearance 
than  some  of  the  others,  a  patch  of  green  before  it, 
and  a  tall  palm  in  the  rear. 

' '  Old  Valdez, ' '  Paquita  whispered.  ' '  It 's  Tuesday 
and  they'll  practice  just  as  they  used  to."  Her  face 
brightened  with  pleasure,  and  she  rocked  gently,  in 
time  to  the  gay  measure.  It  was  the  last  drop  in  her 
cup  of  anticipation,  and  her  eyes  shone  as  they  went 
back  to  the  strip  of  path  below. 

A  man's  figure  had  detached  itself  from  the  sur- 
rounding gray  of  the  eucalyptus  trunks,  and  moved 
into  the  open,  pausing  to  look  up.  Paquita  drew 
back  against  the  bush  behind  her,  then  lifted  herself 
to  her  knees,  watching  until  the  figure  disappeared  be- 
neath the  ledge  of  the  arbor.  The  warm  color  had 
flooded  her  face,  and  her  big  eyes  widened  and  deep- 
ened, aflame  with  the  emotion  that  parted  her  lips 
and  shortened  her  breath.  As  the  man's  head  and 
then  his  shoulders  appeared  above  the  bank  below, 
she  rose  slowly  until  she  stood  erect,  unclasping  the 
cloak  she  wore  and  dropping  it  behind  her  as  she  rose. 
He  gained  the  ledge  on  which  the  arbor  stood  and 

163 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

stopped,  looking  about  him,  his  keen  eyes  quick  and 
eager  in  their  search.  He  had  pushed  his  hat  back 
on  his  head,  and  his  hair  showed  a  dark  line  on  his 
forehead.  His  cheeks  and  upper  lip  had  a  faint  bluish 
tinge,  an  indication  of  the  black  of  his  carefully 
shaven  beard.  His  face  was  somewhat  square  in  out- 
line, the  effect  of  the  salient  chin,  and  the  lines  about 
the  close-set  mouth  appeared  somewhat  hard  and 
shrewd,  the  fold  between  his  eyes  indicative  of  concen- 
tration. He  stood  still,  looking  about  him,  and  the 
girl  observed  him  a  moment  in  quivering  silence ;  then 
stepping  out  of  the  shadow  she  came  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  steep  bank  above  him. 

"Dick,"  she  scarcely  more  than  whispered.  He 
looked  up  with  a  quick  lift  of  his  head,  and  saw  her. 
The  sun  had  sunk  to  a  mere  rim  on  the  horizon,  and 
its  glow  pierced  the  black  mass  of  cypress  behind  her, 
turning  the  red  of  her  gown  into  a  bit  of  flame.  She 
stood  poised  a  moment  above  him,  outlined  against 
the  sombre  background,  a  slender  thing  sheathed  in 
fire,  vivid,  quivering,  aloof,  and  the  next  moment  he 
had  opened  his  arms  to  her. 

' '  Paquita, ' '  he  said,  in  his  deep  voice, ' '  oh,  Quita ! ' ' 
He  lifted  her  up  in  his  arms  and  held  her  close,  his 
lips  on  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  cheek,  and  she  raised 
her  arms  then,  clasping  them  about  his  neck,  and  turn- 
ing her  lips  to  meet  his. 

The  sun  was  gone  and  the  topmost  leaves  of  the 
164 


Above  the  Arroyo 

eucalyptus  in  the  hollow  stirred  in  a  breath  of  the 
evening  breeze.  A  half  moon  hung  in  the  sky  above 
ready  to  mingle  its  pale  light  with  the  coming  shadows 
of  night,  and  the  chill  of  twilight  touched  the  two 
where  they  stood.  The  man  raised  his  head  at  last, 
and  looked  down  at  her.  "Quita,"  he  said,  breath- 
lessly, "you  little  witch-girl!  You  dropped  like  a 
falling  star  from  above  there — let  me  look  at  you." 
He  set  her  down,  and  taking  her  by  the  arms  held 
her  off,  gazing  at  her.  He  was  endeavoring  by  a 
resolute  effort  of  will  to  conquer  the  emotion  that 
shook  him,  but  the  blood  was  still  hot  in  his  cheeks, 
and  his  voice  unsteady.  The  evening  light  softened 
her  brilliant  gown  to  a  warm  tint,  and  she  smiled 
up  at  him  shyly,  her  chin  quivering.  Her  quickly 
drawn  breath  parted  her  lips  and  lifted  the  lace  on 
her  breast,  and  a  sort  of  wonder  grew  in  the  man's 
eyes,  a  surprise  not  untinged  with  joy,  but  also 
touched  with  embarrassment. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  grown  so  ter- 
ribly old — and  so  grand?"  he  said.  "I  should  have 
lifted  my  hat  to  you,  and  shaken  hands  first,  and 
humbly  asked  if  I  might,  for  the  sake  of  old  times, 
kiss  your  cheek,  instead  of  which  I  have  behaved 
as  if  you  were  four  years  old — I  shall  have  to  begin 
at  once  to  ask  your  pardon."  lie  had  talked  on  as 
a  cover  for  his  own  uncertain  feelings,  but  Paquita's 
face  paled,  and  her  eyes  grew  wide  and  troubled,  yet 

165 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

she  only  said  in  her  slow  way,  "It  seemed  so  lovely 
to  see  you  again,  I  didn't  think  about  anything 
else " 

"Nor  I,"  he  said,  quickly.  "Paquita,  how  long 
is  it  since  I  saw  you  in  San  Francisco  ? ' ' 

She  hesitated,  considering.  "Three  or  four 
months,  I  guess,"  she  replied. 

"No,  it  is  six,"  he  corrected.  "I  was  thinking 
as  I  came  up.  It  seemed  longer  even  than  that." 

"Is  it?"  she  said,  but  she  smiled  a  little  now. 
"Won't  you  come  into  my  'parlor'? — Do  you  remem- 
ber you  used  to  call  it  that?"  She  had  moved  away 
from  him,  and  gathered  up  her  skirt  as  she  walked 
ahead.  He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully,  his  expression 
disquieted,  but  he  helped  her  fasten  back  the  vine. 
The  little  room  was  almost  dark  and  she  groped  about 
on  the  table. 

"What  is  it,  Quita?"  he  asked. 

"Matches,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  light  the 
lantern." 

"Here,  I  have  plenty,"  he  answered.  "Where  is 
the  light?" 

"Just  above  your  head."  He  bent  and  struck 
a  match,  and  reaching  up  took  down  the  lantern,  and 
folding  it  up,  lighted  the  candle  it  contained.  He 
adjusted  it  and  standing  on  tiptoe,  hung  it  up  again. 
It  cast  a  subdued  light  on  the  white  plumes  of  the 
pampas  grass,  and  the  red  blankets,  and  Paquita's 

166 


warm  tinted  gown.  His  quick  eye  took  in  everything 
at  a  glance,  and  came  back  to  her,  lingering  on  her, 
but  he  only  said,  ' '  How  pretty  you  have  made  it. ' ' 

"I  brought  the  things  down  from  my  room,"  she 
replied,  "I  had  to  have  some  place,  the  house  is  worse 
than  ever."  She  had  seated  herself  on  the  couch, 
and  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"You  have  changed  it  wonderfully,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  remember  the  first  time  you  brought  me  in 
here?" 

She  nodded,  smiling.  "Yes, — you  were  wandering 
around  the  grounds,  wondering  at  the  old  house, 
and  I  saw  you,  and  took  you  around,  and  Anita  came 
pouncing  down-stairs,  and  I  sneaked  you  in  here  while 
she  went  around  calling.  That  was  away  back  when 
I  was  at  The  Sisters' — just  a  little  girl.  It  was  ages 
before  you  came  again,  though  you  promised  me  you 
would  come  right  away."  She  had  drawn  herself  up 
into  a  position  that  seemed  more  natural  to  her,  one 
foot  curled  up  under  her,  the  other  showing  from  be- 
neath her  skirt.  She  bent  forward,  her  eyes  on  his. 
"I  was  in  trouble — I  cried  about  it,  because  I  didn't 
know  your  name,  and  I  was  sure  without  that  I  could 
never  find  you  again." 

He  laughed.  "And  the  next  time  I  did  come,  you 
saw  me  down  in  the  trees,  and  you  flew  down  like  a 
bird.  You  held  my  hand  tight  when  you  reached  me, 
and  the  first  thing  you  said  was,  'What  is  your 

167 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

name?'  and  when  I  told  you  'Richard  Allison,'  you 
kept  saying  it  over — I  couldn't  think  why — until  you 
told  me  that  if  you  knew  my  name  you  couldn't  lose 
me  again.  I  used  to  come  pretty  often  after  that, 
didn't  I,  Quita?"  He  was  resting  his  arm  on  the 
rustic  work  behind  him,  and  leaning  over  her. 

She  shook  her  head,  not  looking  at  him.  "Not 
very,"  she  said.  "You  used  to  come  once  in  a  while, 
on  the  nicest  days,  because  you  were  out  walking  '  just 
to  rest  your  brain,'  you  said,"  the  dimples  deepened 
in  her  cheeks,  "and  we  had  great  times  escaping 
Anita.  Twice  she  caught  us  when  her  rheumatism 
wasn  't  bad,  and  you  talked  to  her  like  a  lawyer  about 
the  place.  She  thought  you  had  a  right  to  be  there, 
I  think.  You  didn't  come  for  months,  though, 
sometimes. ' ' 

"We  became  good  friends,  though,  didn't  we, 
Quita?  You  always  flew  down  the  bank  to  meet  me, 
and  I  would  pick  you  up  just  as  I  did  out  there — and 
how  you  used  to  pour  out  your  troubles  to  me !  Inez 
had  come  then,  and  life  wasn't  sweet  for  you.  You 
were  a  dear  little  thing,  Quita,  but  a  bit  of  a  rascal 
too."  He  reached  out  to  take  her  hand,  then  drew 
back.  "I  have  laughed  often  about  the  last  time  I 
saw  you— that  time  at  St.  Mary's— and  the  Sister 
sat  so  primly  by  while  we  talked.  You  looked  as 
sleepy  as  a  pussy-cat  in  the  sun,  and  said  good-by  to 
me  like  a  stranger.  I  didn't  like  it  a  little  bit.  I 

168 


Above  the  Arroyo 

went  down  into  the  hall  and  put  on  my  coat  ready  to 
swear,  and  you  opened  the  door  into  the  little  room 
behind  me  and  peeped  out,  beckoning  me  in.  How 
you  got  down  there  I  don't  know,  I  suppose  you  flew 
in  and  out  of  the  window,  but  we  didn't  say  good-by 
like  strangers  then,  did  we  ? "  He  had  her  hand  now, 
and  she  left  it  passive  in  his.  He  spoke  a  little 
quickly,  with  an  accent  of  determination.  "I  have 
never  had  anything  in  my  life  that  has  been — been 
sweeter  than  our  friendship,  Paquita.  I  am  much 
older  than  you,  and  though  you're  not  just  a  little 
girl  any  more — I  realized  that  the  last  time  I  saw 
you — there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  continue 
to  be  the  same  friends  we  have  always  been,  is  there?" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Paquita  looked  up 
at  him.  ""Why,  no, — but  what  do  you  mean?  Why 
shouldn't  we  be  friends?"  She  asked  it  with  her  air 
of  slight  surprise,  but  the  hand  he  did  not  hold  caught 
a  fold  of  her  dress  and  crushed  it. 

"There  is  no  reason,"  he  said,  flushing,  "only  I 
thought — that — well,  that  now  you  are  Miss  Payne, 
you  might  not  care  to  spend  your  time  on  a  tiresome 
old  person  who  keeps  forgetting  that  you  are  not  a 
little  girl  any  longer — who  could  not  help  forgetting 
it — sometimes — just  as  I  did  out  there  a  few  minutes 
ago."  He  endeavored  to  speak  lightly,  and  Paquita 's 
eyes  left  his  and  rested  on  the  faint  strip  of  moon- 
light without  the  door. 

169 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"  Was  that  what  you  thought — out  there — when 
I  came  down  the  bank?"  she  asked,  quietly,  and 
Allison  was  silenced.  "No,"  she  continued,  slowly, 
"we're  friends,  of  course,  now,  just  the  same  as  we 
always  were.  .  .  .  You  want  to  come  up  here  just 
the  same  as  you  did  when  you  had  fussed  all  day  in 
court,  and  wanted  to  rest  your  brain — just  to  play 
around  a  little," — her  voice  held  not  the  slightest 
hint  of  sarcasm,  but  he  studied  her  doubtfully, — ' '  and 
I  am  glad  when  you  come,  just  the  same  as  I  always 
was.  As  long  as  I  am  here  I  hope  you  will  come 
often."  She  turned  to  look  up  at  him  again. 

He  could  not  have  asked  for  an  answer  more 
frank,  and  apparently  unconscious  of  the  caution  his 
own  words  had  expressed,  nevertheless  he  looked  un- 
satisfied. If  Paquita  saw  it  she  showed  no  sign,  but 
taking  her  hand  from  his  she  reached  over  and  lifted 
the  guitar  from  the  table,  bending  her  head  and 
listening  to  the  music  below.  Then  she  touched  a 
chord  or  two,  softly,  in  tune  with  the  Spanish  dance 
they  were  playing.  "It's  old  Valdez,  still,"  she  said. 
"Do  you  remember  how  they  used  to  play,  and  I 
would  dance  for  you — just  steps  I  made  up  in  my 
head  ?  I  can  dance  a  good  deal  better  now. ' ' 

He  looked  down  at  her,  at  the  white  nape  of  her 
neck  with  its  two  or  three  soft  curls,  and  the  curve 
of  her  cheek,  and  his  brows  lifted,  the  lines  about  his 
mouth  relaxing.  ""VThat  did  you  mean  when  you 

170 


Above  the  Arroyo 

said  '  as  long  as  you  were  here '  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  lower 
tone. 

"Just  that  I  am  going  away  again  in  a  little 
while." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  here — indefinitely. 
You  told  me  so  in  your  note!"  Allison  exclaimed, 
sharply. 

She  lifted  her  head  a  little.  "Why,  yes,  but  Inez 
has  decided,  and  Mr.  Payne,  that  I  better  go  on  with 
my  dancing.  Inez  has  spent  a  good  deal  of  money 
on  my  lessons,  and  she  seems  to  be  very  hard  up 
just  now.  I  think  Mr.  Payne  means  to  get  me  an 
engagement  as  soon  as  he  can." 

There  was  perfect  silence,  then  Allison  said  a  trifle 
indistinctly,  "Where  would  you  go?" 

"East  somewhere,"  she  replied. 

"Quita,  you  dancing  on  the  stage — you  wouldn't 
do  it?"  His  voice  held  entreaty. 

"I  would.  How  can  I  live  here?  I  can  stand  it 
a  few  weeks,  until  they  get  me  a  place  with  some 
company,  but  that's  all.  You  don't  know  what  it  is 
like  up  in  that  house,  and  with  Inez. ' ' 

"No,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "I  never  thought 
much  about  it — until  lately.  You  seemed  such  a  little 
thing,  and  just  a  part  of  the  garden,  and  then  they 
had  the  sense  to  send  you  away  to  a  good  school.  Is 
it  necessary,  Quita?" 

"What  else  is  there  for  me  to  do?  What  else  do 
171 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

1  know?"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  touch  of  passion. 

"And,  oh,  Dick,  I  can  dance !     They  went  wild 

over  me  this  spring  at  'The  Academy'!"  She  half 
rose,  and  his  arm  went  round  her  as  if  to  keep  her, 
but  she  slipped  from  his  hold,  and  was  out  of  the 
door.  Allison  followed  her  to  the  verge  of  the  ledge 
where  she  stood  impatiently  tapping  time  to  the  music. 
It  came  in  snatches  and  was  too  fast  to  suit  her,  but 
at  the  touch  of  Allison 's  hand  on  her  arm  she  whirled 
away  from  him  like  a  feather  on  the  breeze.  He  had 
often  watched  her  in  delight  when  she  was  a  child, 
but  he  stood  now  frowning  heavily,  the  blood  rising 
to  his  temples.  It  was  a  luminous  night,  clear  and 
star-lit,  and  he  could  see  her  features;  her  face  was 
pale  in  its  black  setting,  her  eyes  wide  and  brilliant. 
She  stood  poised  a  moment  beyond  his  reach,  her  head 
bent  to  catch  the  rhythm,  her  skirts  held  wide,  her 
small  feet  and  ankles  visible,  and  then  she  barely 
moved  to  it,  a  floating  improvisation  of  her  own,  that, 
at  the  quickening  of  the  measure,  changed  into  the 
perfect  poetry  of  motion.  She  scarcely  lifted  her  feet 
from  the  ground  as  she  moved  the  length  of  the  level 
space,  but  her  body  turned  and  swayed,  bent  and 
lifted,  her  skirts  now  caught  about  her,  every  graceful 
line  of  her  body  apparent,  now  spread  wide  like  a 
cloud.  Once,  twice,  she  passed  him,  her  eyes  alight, 
the  smile  on  her  lips  mocking,  but  the  third  time  he 

172 


Above  the  Arroyo 

caught  and  lifted  her,  and  as  he  clasped  her  he  whis- 
pered as  he  had  before,  "Quita,  oh,  Quita!" 

He  carried  her  to  the  step  of  the  arbor  and  held 
her  in  his  arms,  the  moonlight  on  their  faces,  the  rosy 
glow  of  the  lantern  behind  them.  "I  will  never  let 
you  do  it,"  he  said,  passionately.  "Why,  Quita,  I 
couldn  't  bear  it.  ...  Tell  me,  do  you  love  me,  little 
witch-girl?"  She  was  silent. 

' '  Tell  me, ' '  he  repeated.  ' '  I  shall  kiss  you  till  you 
answer. ' ' 

"You  don't  need  to  ask  me,"  she  said,  "any  more 
than  I  need  to  ask  you  the  same  thing." 

"Why? "he  demanded. 

She  reached  up,  drawing  his  head  close  to  hers,  her 
lips  to  his  ear.  "I  knew  it,"  she  whispered,  "the 
minute  you  kissed  me — the  first  time  this  evening — 
and  you  knew  it  too.  It  frightened  you,  and  you 
talked  like  that  in  there — I  knew  it  all  the  time, ' '  she 
laughed,  softly. 

"Paquita,  don't  you  know  that  I  am  twice  as  old  as 
you  are — what  am  I  going  to  do  with  a  baby  like 
you?"  The  man  that  hesitated  and  considered  was 
rousing  again. 

"Just  love  me,"  she  said,  softly,  "that's  all,  and 
I  will  be  as  old  as  you  like." 

"I  would  find  difficulty  in  not  loving  you, — that 
is  the  trouble, — but  it  is  not  right  to  you,  you  are  only 
a  child  and  know  nothing  more  of  what  is  best  for  you 

173 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

than  a  child  would.  You  are  fifteen  and  I  am  thirty- 
two — I  ought  not  to  have  taken  you  in  my  arms,  or 
kissed  you  as  I  have  to-night,  but  God  knows  it  seemed 
natural  enough." 

She  raised  herself  a  little,  holding  him  closer. 
"Oh,  why  do  you  talk  in  that  way!"  she  said,  passion- 
ately. "Dick,  do  you  think  I  don't  know!  If  I  had 
family,  and  friends,  and  position,  and  money,  if  a  lot 
of  things  were  not  as  they  are,  you  would  love  me  more 
— yes,  you  would ;  but  as  it  is,  you  love  me  better  than 
anybody  else — you  do — you  know  it.  .  .  .  And  I— 
why,  Dick,  away  back  when  I  was  a  little,  little  girl,  I 
didn't  love  anybody  in  the  world  but  you.  When 
I'd  lie  awake  at  night  because  the  wind  screamed 
so  through  the  house  up  there,  and  it  creaked  and 
cracked,  and  the  rats  ran  around  so  that  people  seemed 
to  be  creeping  about,  I  would  just  cover  up  my  head 
and  think  of  you — just  you.  And  in  the  day  and  at 
night,  I  would  come  and  sit  on  this  step,  right  here, 
where  we  are,  and  look  over  there  to  the  city  and 
wonder  what  you  were  doing.  Then  up  at  St. 
Mary's  I  tried  to  learn  everything  they'd  teach  me 
so  I  would — so  I  might — appear  better,  and  you  would 
love  me  more.  ...  I  would  have  done  anything, 
anything,  to  give  myself  a  different  position — so  I 
could  be  among  the  kind  of  people  you  know.  .  .  . 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  you — that  I  just  knew  you  loved 
me — I — I "  She  gasped. 

174 


Above  the  Arroyo 

"Paquita,  don't,  don't!"  he  cried,  wincing.  "Do 
you  want  to  make  me  sorry  for  all  the  times  I  have 
kissed  you?  My  Lord,  no  man  is  good  enough  to  be 
loved  like  that — I  am  not.  .  .  .  Don't  cry,  darling, 
don't!"  He  held  her  close,  softly  kissing  her  hair. 
' '  I  called  you  a  little  rascal  in  there,  will  you  forgive 
me?" 

"But  I  am — sometimes,"  she  said,  in  smothered 
tones. 

"Well,  I  won't  argue  the  question,"  he  said, 
laughing  a  little  uncertainly.  Then  his  manner 
changed.  "But,  Paquita,  you  are  not  to  go  on  the 
stage.  I  won 't  have  it — not  if  you  love  me — anything 
but  that ! ' '  He  spoke,  sternly. 

"I  don't  want  to,"  she  whispered. 

"And,  Quita,  when  I  have  thought  things  out,  I 
am  going  to  see  Inez  Overa,  and  this  Mr.  Payne  who 
seems  to  be  your  guardian.  If  you  are  related  to  the 
Paynes  who  used  to  live  here,  you  come  of  a  good 
family.  You  ought  to  know  more  about  your  parents, 
and  they  seem  to  have  told  you  almost  nothing.  If 
there  is  a  chance  to  better  things  for  you  I  want  to 
do  it. ' '  Paquita  was  silent. 

"You  won't  see  them  right  away,  will  you?"  she 
asked,  finally. 

"Would  you  rather  I  didn't?"  he  said,  struck  by 
her  tone. 

She  nestled  her  head  against  his  breast  with  a 

175 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

little  sigh,  "It's  nice  just  this  way — for  a  while — 
isn't  it?"  she  asked,  softly. 

He  laughed  again,  and  drew  her  closer,  flushing 
deeply  as  he  looked  down  at  her.  "I  have  no  objec- 
tions, Baby — but — it  will  have  to  be  done  some  time — 
I  suppose?"  She  made  no  reply,  and  they  were 
silent.  The  snatches  of  music  had  stopped  and  it  was 
very  quiet.  The  lights  were  going  out,  one  by  one, 
in  the  arroyo,  and  all  down  the  further  gorge  they 
twinkled  at  rarer  intervals.  A  mocking-bird  twit- 
tered in  the  eucalyptus  grove  below,  and  then  sang 
several  liquid  notes  that  rang  clear  in  the  quiet  night, 
paused,  twittered  and  trilled,  bursting  at  last  into  a 
continued  melody. 

"Just  listen,  Dick,"  Paquita  whispered.  "They 
always  sang  like  that  down  there."  She  stirred  to 
move  out  of  his  embrace,  but  he  held  her  tightly. 

' '  No,  stay  here, ' '  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  ' '  Please — 
I  will  have  to  go  away  soon  enough.  .  .  .  Quita, 
the  world's  one  thing  sitting  here  in  the  moonlight 
with  you  in  my  arms,  and  quite  another  when  I  sit 
looking  out  of  my  office  window.  I  get  a  fever  in  my 
blood  when  I  see  things  doing,  and  I  want  to  be  in 
the  fore-front  every  time." 

"And  you  are,"  she  said,  proudly.  "Oh,  I  know! 
I've  seen  the  things  they  say  about  you.  They  say 
that  you  are  the  best  lawyer  in  the  city,  that  you  can 
do  more  with  a  jury  than  any  one  else  in  the  State." 

176 


Above  the  Arroyo 

"It  has  been  slow  going,  though,  Quita,"  he  mut- 
tered. "If  I  hadn't  been  helped,  I  wouldn't  be 
anywhere." 

"Who  helped  you,  Dick?"  she  asked,  timidly; 
but  he  either  did  not  hear  her,  or  he  chose  not  to 
answer.  He  was  silent  so  long  that  she  said  softly, 
"I  am  going  in  now." 

"You  don't  have  to  go,"  he  objected,  his  manner 
eager  again.  "Stay  a  little  longer." 

"Yes,  I  must,  Dick." 

"A  little  longer,  Quita;  come  inside  a  minute 
where  I  can  see  you  better. ' '  He  rose  and  drew  her  in 
beneath  the  subdued  light  of  the  lantern.  He  took 
her  face  in  his  hands,  lifting  it  a  little,  and  her  eyes 
grew  wide  with  joy  at  the  look  he  gave  her.  "You 
would  be  worth  a  good  deal,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
and  she  was  too  happy  to  ask  him  what  he  meant.  He 
let  her  go  then.  "Is  it  good-night,  then,  Quita?" 
he  asked.  "Do  I  have  to  put  the  light  out  now?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  replied,  smiling.  Allison 
reached  up  and  taking  the  lantern  down,  blew  out  the 
candle.  They  went  out,  and  he  unfastened  the  vine, 
dropping  it  back  over  the  opening.  Then  he  climbed 
up  the  steep  bank  with  her,  but  at  the  top  she  stopped 
him.  "I  am  going  on  by  myself,"  she  said.  "You 
must  say  good-night  here." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  get  in?"  he  asked  her. 
12  177 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"By  a  window,  or  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling,  or 
how?" 

"By  the  front  door." 

"Let  me  go  there  with  you  then." 

' '  No,  the  dog  will  hear  you, ' '  Paquita  objected. 

"Then  I  have  to  say  good-night  now — here?" 

"Yes."  She  stood  back  from  the  arm  he  put 
about  her,  and  he  reached  and  drew  her  up  to  him, 
kissing  her  again  and  again,  refusing  to  let  her  go. 

"How  many  months  will  it  be  before  you  come 
again?"  she  whispered. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  hours?  How  many  do  you 
say,  Quita?" 

She  bent  her  head  back,  laughing  gently,  as  she 
touched  each  of  his  eyes,  his  cheeks,  and  his  lips 
with  her  slender  finger.  "Five  and  five  are  ten,  five's 
fifteen,  five's  twenty,  and  four's  twenty-four,"  she 
counted. 

"Exactly,"  Allison  said.  "You  have  learned  the 
arithmetic  of  love,  Baby.  I — Quita,  Quita,  what  will 
be  the  end  of  it  all? — There,  you  may  go  now." 

Allison  had  turned  on  the  light  in  his  office,  and 
stood  looking  about  him,  before  taking  off  his  hat  and 
laying  it  down.  His  mind  was  so  filled  with  another 
scene,  and  other  impressions,  that  the  large  well-fur- 
nished room,  with  its  spacious  desk  and  wide  windows, 
that  should  be  so  familiar,  looked  to  him  unreal.  His 

178 


Above  the  Arroyo 

room  was  one  of  a  suite,  and  the  lettering  on  the  glass 
door  of  the  general  reception  office,  through  which  he 
had  just  passed,  set  forth  the  names  of  his  firm: 

ALLISON,  BECK,  AND  BURNS, 
ATTORNEYS  AT  LAW. 

The  firm  occupied  six  rooms,  the  entire  corner  of 
the  fifth  floor  in  the  high  building  that  was  the 
nucleus  of  the  law  offices  of  the  city,  and  the  very 
atmosphere  bespoke  the  standing  of  the  firm.  Alli- 
son's own  suite  opened  upon  the  library,  a  room  lined 
with  books,  probably  the  best  law  library  in  the  city. 

To  Allison  all  this  had  meant  twelve  years  of 
patient  toil,  of  careful  living,  of  wise  expenditure  of 
the  means  that  came  into  his  hand,  the  shrewd  hand- 
ling of  opportunity,  and  not  least  of  all,  the  sympa- 
thetic assistance  of  a  woman.  He  had  allowed  him- 
self but  little  of  the  sort  of  relaxation,  the  pandering 
to  the  mere  emotional  in  him,  that  he  had  seen  plenty 
of  in  other  men;  not  that  he  lacked  in  the  qualities, 
but  because  a  yielding  meant  to  him  a  forgetfulness 
of  ambition,  and  a  waste  of  money.  He  was  climbing 
fast  toward  the  top  rungs  of  the  ladder  of  professional 
ambition,  but  in  that  city  of  rapidly  growing  fortunes, 
he  as  yet  had  his  to  make. 

There  had  been  opportunities  for  him  to  turn  over 
in  real  estate  the  modest  sums  that  came  into  his 

hands,  but  true  to  the  ideals  of  his  boyhood,  he  had 

179 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

determinedly  used  them  for  the  establishment  of  his 
professional  position.  During  the  last  two  or  three 
years,  he  had  had  an  opportunity  to  handle  somewhat 
larger  sums,  and  the  investment  of  them  had  been  a 
particular  pleasure,  a  joy  he  had  always  craved.  It 
had  opened  to  him  a  future  of  possibilities  that  was 
alluring. 

But  as  he  laid  off  his  hat  and  seated  himself  in 
his  comfortable  chair,  he  was  not  thinking  of  his  am- 
bitions, save  as  a  background  that  insisted  on  being 
visible.  He  absently  lifted  some  papers  on  his  desk, 
but  they  failed  to  arouse  his  attention,  and  leaning 
back,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  he  gazed  out 
of  the  window  at  the  expanse  of  moon-lit  sky.  He 
was  considering  the  scene  of  the  evening,  his  thoughts 
introspective,  his  expression  disquieted.  He  saw  the 
neglected  grounds,  and  the  rambling  house,  each  suc- 
cessive year  a  little  more  desolate  in  its  decay,  and 
the  vivid  child  that  danced  through  the  sunshine  and 
shadow,  over  ruin  and  decay,  into  his  arms.  His 
cheek  was  still  warm  from  the  pressure  of  her  lips, 
but  it  was  not  the  vision  of  the  woman  that  grew 
clearer  as  he  reviewed  the  past ;  it  was  the  appealing 
tenderness  of  the  child.  She  had  been  a  casual  amuse- 
ment to  him  in  the  beginning,  that  as  time  went  on 
had  grown  into  a  delight.  There  had  come  to  be  a 
bond  between  them,  she  expecting  his  interest  and 

180 


Above  the  Arroyo 

attention,    and   he   reliant   upon   her   affection   and 
capacity  to  please  him. 

It  was  characteristic  of  his  self-absorption  that  it 
had  not  occurred  to  him  to  attempt  any  amelioration 
of  her  lonely  and  unusual  position;  her  people  and 
her  surroundings  appeared  to  be  undesirable,  and  he 
had  purposely  avoided  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  them.  It  was  a  principle  of  his  to  give  little 
attention  to  the  affairs  of  others  save  as  they  came 
to  him  in  a  business  way.  But  Paquita,  herself, 
pleased  him.  She  had  touched  the  lighter  vein  in 
him,  the  desire  to  be  amused.  Later  on  it  became  a 
craving  to  yield  to  her  alluring  charm,  an  uncon- 
scious realization  of  the  mingling  of  child  and  woman 
in  her.  He  had  always  treated  her  affectionately, 
and  with  a  tacit  acknowledgment  of  a  sort  of  claim 
upon  him.  During  the  last  two  years  he  had  seen 
her  only  at  long  intervals,  as  his  business  interests 
happened  to  take  him  to  the  northern  city,  but  he  had 
come  away  from  each  sight  of  her,  disquieted,  a  sen- 
sation that  soon  lost  itself  in  the  more  active  interests 
of  his  life.  He  had  not  realized  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  had  been  filled  when  he  had  smiled  over 
her  note,  carefully  written  in  the  usual  large  convent 
hand,  a  half  dozen  lines  to  the  page.  So  she  was  back 
in  the  ruined  garden  again,  and  he  had  wondered  with 
a  flush  if  she  would  fly  into  his  arms,  or  how  she 
would  receive  him.  He  had  felt  an  undercurrent  of 

181 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

satisfaction  at  the  thought  that  there  would  be  no 
chaperoning  eyes  to  check  the  natural  expression  of 
her  affection  if  she  saw  fit  to  show  it  to  him,  and  he 
would  not  grant  to  himself  that  in  the  state  of  his  own 
feelings  it  would  be  far  better  for  him  should  he  be 
received  with  all  the  conventional  surroundings.  He 
was  by  nature  a  respecter  and  upholder  of  the  con- 
ventional, more  so  than  most  men;  yet  one  of  Pa- 
quita's  particular  charms  to  him  had  always  been  her 
freedom  from  the  usual  and  conventional.  It  was  one 
of  those  inconsistencies  in  character  that  are  as  natural 
as  they  are  surprising.  Their  friendship  was  all  their 
own,  a  something  hidden  and  sweet,  unsuspected  even 
by  the  occupants  of  the  old  house. 

Allison  had  long  been  in  a  state  of  depressed  irri- 
tation over  what  had  been  one  of  the  most  persistent 
and  determined  ambitions  of  his  life,  for  he  had  his 
ambitions  in  love  as  in  other  matters,  and  as  he  held 
Paquita's  note  in  his  hand,  he  had  asked  himself  how 
many  more  of  his  best  years  he  was  going  to  give  up 
to  an  apparently  hopeless  pursuit.  "Why  not  take 
the  joys  that  life  offered  him?  He  was  growing  old 
without  tasting  its  pleasures.  In  this  frame  of  mind 
he  had  gone,  and  he  had  come  away  with  pulses  throb- 
bing, and  a  disquieting  view  of  his  future.  Little 
Paquita  in  her  warm  red  gown,  and  her  decorated 
bower!  Was  it  necessary  that  love  should  be  an 
ambition  as  well?  But  as  he  sat  considering  the 

182 


Above  the  Arroyo 

future,  the  fold  between  his  eyes  deepened,  and  his 
mouth  hardened. 

He  brought  his  chair  down,  sitting  upright  with 
an  impatient  lift  of  his  shoulders.  ' '  Good  heavens ! ' ' 
he  muttered.  "Can  I  never  learn  just  to  enjoy  the 
present?"  He  stirred  the  papers  on  his  desk  im- 
patiently, and  uncovered  a  pile  of  letters,  the  last 
mail  of  the  afternoon  that  he  had  failed  to  open. 
The  topmost  letter  bore  a  handwriting  he  knew  well, 
and  he  opened  it  quickly,  his  look  eager. 

"Dear  Richard,"  he  read,  "I  am  writing  hastily 
to  you  after  having  seen  Mr.  Attell.  I  came  down 
from  Moneta  this  morning  in  order  to  have  a  talk 
with  him,  and  shall  return  almost  immediately.  Mr. 
Attell  has  promised  me  to  see  you  to-morrow,  and  I 
am  delighted,  for  this  will  give  you  the  chance  you 
have  wanted  so  long.  It  will  mean  an  opportunity 
to  invest  in  Conchita  oil  land,  and  also  an  offer  to 
take  charge  of  the  Attell  legal  interests.  I  am  very 
glad  for  your  sake. 

"I  know  how  unreasonable  I  appear  to  you — I 
have  never  realized  it  more  fully  than  I  have  during 
these  last  few  days — and  I  know  that  you  are  both 
angry  and  hurt  at  my  attitude.  I  am  very  sorry,  but 
all  I  can  do  is  to  beg  you  not  to  let  anything  interfere 
with  the  friendship  side  of  our  long  acquaintance. 
That  means  a  great  deal  to  me,  for  your  welfare  is  one 
of  the  warmest  interests  I  have.  I  can  assist  you  a 

183 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

little  sometimes,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  deprive  me 
of  that  happiness.  I  might  say  more  were  you  here, 
but  I  intended  this  to  be  a  business  letter,  and  I  am, 

as  always, 

"Your  affectionate  friend, 

''KATE  TALWORTH. 

"I  forgot  to  say  that  if  as  a  result  of  your  confer- 
ence with  Mr.  Attell,  you  see  a  good  opportunity  for 
investment,  please  call  upon  me.  I  think  even  the 
Attells  feel  the  hard  times  and  it  might  be  an  exceed- 
ingly good  chance  for  making  an  investment  that 
would  not  occur  were  money  more  plentiful. ' ' 

Richard  Allison  held  the  note  in  his  hand  for  some 
time,  studying  it  thoughtfully,  his  eyes  bright,  his 
face  flushed.  "That  is  like  her!"  he  exclaimed. 
"There  is  nothing  finer  in  creation  than  Kate — fine 
and  true  always.  Oh,  if  she  would  listen  to  me  after 
all!"  Then  he  flung  it  down  with  an  ejaculation  of 
self -contempt, — "and  after  to-night,  too!"  he  added, 
his  lips  compressed. 


VII. 

HISTORY  AND  A  REASON 

"I  RODE  over  on  the  chance  that  you  had  re- 
turned, ' '  Horton  said,  as  he  crossed  the  room  to  greet 
Kate.  "You  said  two  days,  but  I  thought  it  possible 
that  you  had  returned  earlier."  He  endeavored  to 
speak  easily,  an  effort  on  his  part  to  hide  anxiety  as 
well  as  the  extreme  pleasure  he  felt.  He  had  come 
to  inquire  about  Kate 's  probable  return  for  the  simple 
reason  that  he  had  been  unable  to  keep  away.  To 
his  surprise  and  joy  he  was  told  that  Kate  was  there, 
and  that  she  would  see  him. 

* '  I  came  on  the  early  morning  train, ' '  Kate  replied. 
"I  thought  you  would  come  this  afternoon — I  hoped 
you  would. ' '  She  had  risen  and  given  him  her  hand, 
her  smile  sweet,  her  manner  frank  and  friendly. 

Horton  flushed  with  pleasure,  and  the  strained  look 
left  his  face.  "Thank  you,  Kate,"  he  said,  simply. 
For  twenty-four  hours  he  had  been  schooling  himself 
to  meet  any  attitude  Kate  might  take  toward  him, 
and  with  a  word  and  a  look  she  had  put  him  at  his 
ease.  He  had  pondered  endlessly  over  their  conversa- 
tion of  two  nights  before,  and  ended  by  thrusting  the 
whole  thing  aside.  He  could  not  explain  the  meaning 
of  her  words,  any  more  than  he  could  explain  Kate 

185 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

herself.  Years  ago  he  had  decided  that  so  far  as 
his  attitude  to  Kate  was  concerned,  the  strange  and 
unexplained  did  not  exist,  and  now  his  determination 
was  the  same.  His  trust  in  her,  in  the  reality  of  her 
that  his  instinct  revealed  to  him,  was  absolute.  He 
wanted  her  head  on  his  breast,  her  cheek  against  his ; 
given  that  assurance,  what  else  mattered?  Why 
agonize  over  futilities?  He  bitterly  regretted  that, 
pricked  by  jealousy,  he  had  allowed  a  reproach  to 
escape  him.  He  had  come  in  a  few  short  hours  to  hate 
the  very  sound  of  Richard  Allison's  name.  He  had 
walked  the  floor  of  his  room  the  night  before  repeat- 
ing to  himself,  "Have  patience,  keep  a  tight  rein  on 
yourself. "  Kate  had  unknowinglj7  set  him  a  task  that 
roused  every  energy  he  possessed.  Just  as  the  scorn- 
ful glance  she  had  given  him  years  ago  had  ranked 
him  with  the  fat  bully  he  had  so  eagerly  thrashed, 
so  now  her  reluctance  made  him  a  part  of  some  hate- 
ful recollection,  endowed  him  with  characteristics  that 
did  not  belong  to  him.  Back  at  that  time  she  had 
discovered  her  mistake  and  told  him  so;  she  would 
do  it  in  this  case  also.  Horton's  jaw  had  set  and  his 
head  lifted  as  he  continued  his  rapid  walk  back  and 
forth.  He  wanted  her  love — what  else  was  there  that 
had  mattered  particularly,  since  he  had  first  looked 
into  her  eyes?  But  what  chance  was  there  for  love 
when  trust  was  wanting. 

Horton  would  not  grant  to  himself  that  there  might 

186 


History  and  a  Reason 

be  another  reason  for  Kate's  attitude  to  him,  a 
reason  that  she  would  be  slow  to  confess.  Her  posi- 
tive statement  that  she  would  "marry  nobody"  did 
not  necessarily  mean  that  her  heart  was  free.  The 
blood  had  risen  hot  to  Horton's  face  when  he  reached 
this  point  in  his  reflections,  and  he  swore  passionately 
to  himself.  If  that  were  the  case  his  efforts  would  be 
fruitless  indeed.  He  would  not  grant  its  possibility. 
He  went  back  to  his  first  position:  he  would  walk 
carefully  and  win  his  way. 

It  was  in  that  mood  that  he  came,  and  Kate's 
unfailing  tact  ignored  what  had  been  painful  in  their 
last  meeting,  placing  him  at  his  ease.  She  was  seated 
on  the  green-cushioned  window-seat,  and  Horton  took 
a  chair  near  her.  He  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  peace  that 
was  infinitely  grateful  after  the  feverish  unrest  of 
the  last  two  days.  He  was  with  her  again  and  she 
had  smiled  on  him. 

Kate  prepared  the  tea  and  Hop  waited  deftly  upon 
them.  The  long  low-ceilinged  room,  restful  in  its  soft 
colors  of  bronze-greens  and  brown,  was  shaded  and 
cool,  after  the  glare  of  the  mid-afternoon  sun.  Kate 
sat  with  her  back  to  the  window  and  as  she  bent  over 
the  table  the  light  behind  her  turned  her  hair  to  the 
color  of  burnished  copper.  When  she  turned  so  that 
the  shadow  rested  upon  it,  it  looked  very  dark,  a 
marked  contrast  to  her  fair  skin.  Horton  watched  her 
in  delight,  the  quick  lift  of  her  head  when  she  looked 

187 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

at  him,  the  curve  of  her  dark  lashes  when  her  eyes 
were  lowered,  the  slight  lift  of  the  upper  lip,  and  the 
warm  red  of  the  full  under  lip.  She  smiled  fre- 
quently when  she  talked,  a  faint  smile  that  rarely 
touched  the  gravity  of  her  sombre  eyes.  The  man 
who  brought  a  smile  to  Kate's  eyes  as  well  as  her 
lips  felt  a  certain  triumph,  and  a  spur  to  further 
effort.  It  was  one  of  the  charms  she  unconsciously 
exerted.  She  was  not  so  slender  as  the  girl  Horton 
remembered,  but  every  line  was  still  graceful,  the  erect 
carriage  of  her  head  even  more  marked  than  it  used  to 
be.  The  whole  woman  had  ripened,  grown  richer  in 
line  and  coloring,  and  still  had  lost  nothing  of  a  cer- 
tain girlish  charm.  Her  cheek  and  chin  were  as  soft 
in  their  curve  as  a  child's. 

Horton  was  too  much  absorbed  for  a  time  to 
notice  that  Kate  was  talking  more  rapidly  than  usual, 
her  manner  almost  vivacious.  He  was  first  struck  by 
her  color,  which  was  so  deep  at  times  as  to  be  vivid, 
then  again  fading  until  she  was  pale.  He  noticed 
then  that  when  she  looked  fully  at  him  her  eyes  ap- 
peared unusually  dark,  the  pupils  dilated.  There  was 
a  touch  of  something  hurried,  or  a  little  breathless  in 
her  manner  that  was  foreign  to  Horton 's  conception 
of  her.  She  carefully  avoided  the  personal  as  did 
Horton,  but  they  met  on  common  ground  in  their  love 
of  the  beauty  about  them.  ' '  The  lights  on  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  changing  colors  of  the  water — "  Kate 

188 


History  and  a  Reason 

said,  "there  is  so  much  that  is  beautiful  crowded  upon 
the  senses  at  once  that  it  is  a  little  like  pain.  I  feel 
a  tightness  in  my  throat  sometimes,  as  if  I  should  like 
to  cry." 

Horton  gave  her  a  quick  look  of  understanding. 
"I  know,"  he  said. 

Kate  spoke  then  of  the  Moneta  Mountains  and  the 
trails  she  found  the  most  interesting.  "I  spend  so 
much  time  here  on  horseback,"  she  said,  "and  I  never 
ride  in  Los  Angeles ;  level  streets  have  so  little  attrac- 
tion; they  seem  to  be  intended  for  automobiles." 

"Parts  of  Los  Angeles  are  broken  enough,"  Hor- 
ton replied.  "The  whole  northwestern  section  is 
hilly.  I  used  to  ride  all  over  the  hills  when  I  was  a 
boy." 

Kate  paused  for  a  moment  before  she  spoke.  "I 
had  rather  a  curious  experience  yesterday.  I  think 
I  chanced  on  your  old  home ;  was  your  home  on  Sum- 
mit Hill,  a  big  place  with  terraced  grounds  ? ' ' 

"Yes!"  Horton  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "You 
mean  the  old  Payne  house?  .  .  .  It's  a  ruin  now, 
Kate.  How  in  the  world  did  you  happeu  to  go 
there!" 

Kate  motioned  to  Hop  to  remove  the  tea-tray  be- 
fore she  answered  him.  "I  had  the  afternoon  free 
yesterday,  and  as  I  was  walking  on  Broadway  I  saw 
a  Summit  Hill  car,  and  took  it  out  to  the  heights.  I 
think  it  was  Aunt  Silence's  having  spoken  of  Summit 

189 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Hill  and  my  knowing  nothing  of  that  part  of  the  city 
that  made  me  go.  There  is  a  wonderful  view  of  the 
city  from  the  first  hill,  and  I  left  the  car  to  walk 
about  and  see  better.  I  walked  back  over  the  hills, 
and  it  was  a  row  of  big  cypress  trees  that  first  at- 
tracted my  attention.  I  crossed  the  arroyo,  and  then 
I  saw  the  house."  Kate  had  turned  more  fully 
toward  Horton,  and,  drawing  closer  to  her  a  stand 
that  stood  at  her  side,  she  leaned  her  elbow  on  it,  her 
chin  in  her  hand,  her  eyes  wide  and  dark,  fixed  on 
his  face.  "I  went  into  the  grounds  so  as  to  see  the 
house  better." 

Horton  was  too  much  surprised  at  what  she  had 
told  him  to  notice  the  deep  interest  of  her  expression. 
"You  went  into  the  grounds — and  up  to  the  house!" 
Horton  said.  "How  strange!  I  was  born  in  that 
house,  Kate,  and  lived  there — that  is  most  of  the 
time — until  I  was  ten  years  old,  and  I  have  been 
inside  of  it  only  once  since.  I  don't  take  much 
interest  in  some  of  my  property,  do  I?"  He  spoke 
with  an  undercurrent  of  deep  feeling. 

' '  But  you — do  you  mean  that  you  own  it — now  ? ' ' 

"Yes — unfortunately,"  said  Horton.  "I  own 
about  fifty  acres  of  the  old  Payne  tract,  and  the  house 
and  grounds  are  a  part  of  it." 

"And  you  could  let  it  go  to  ruin  like  that!"  her 
voice  was  expressive. 

Horton  paused  in  surprise  before  answering.  She 
190 


History  and  a  Reason 

had  introduced  a  subject  so  apart  from  his  daily  inter- 
ests, and  foreign  to  his  thoughts  at  that  moment,  that 
he  stopped  to  consider.  "I  was  not  able  to  take  care 
of  the  place  when  it  needed  care,"  he  explained,  "and 
of  late  years  it  has  gone  beyond  the  possibility  of  re- 
pairs— but  why  have  you  asked  me  about  it?  Do 
you  know  its  history  ? ' ' 

"Only  what  some  one  on  the  place  told  me — that 
it  belonged  to  a  family  of  Paynes. ' ' 

"Yes,  there  is  an  old  woman,  I  believe,  who  has 
the  only  livable  corner  of  the  house,"  Horton  said. 
"I  thought  possibly  Mrs.  Silence  had  told  you  some- 
thing of  it.  No  one  but  an  old  resident  would  be 
likely  to  know.  Did  you  connect  me  with  it,  Kate? 
Did  you  think  of  me  when  you  were  there?"  He 
spoke  with  some  eagerness. 

"Yes "  she  admitted,  hesitating,  and  plainly 

embarrassed  by  his  question. 

"I  am  glad  then  that  the  place  exists,"  he  said, 
with  emphasis.  "I  never  was  before." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Kate,  ignoring  his  last  remark, 
"it  would  have  cost  a  great  deal  to  keep  up  grounds 
like  that — I  know  what  it  means  here,  but  it  seemed 
like  a  sin  almost ''  she  stopped. 

Horton  moved  restlessly.  "I  hate  the  sight  and 
thought  of  that  house!"  he  exclaimed,  hotly.  "That 
is  the  real  reason  I  have  left  it  alone.  The  sooner 
it  goes  to  pieces  the  better."  Then  he  added  more 

191 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

quietly,  "but  you  don't  know  my  reasons,  so  you 
wouldn't  understand." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  distressed,  "I  did  not  mean  to 
criticize,  or  to  ask " 

"What  happened  there  is  no  secret,"  Horton 
answered,  quickly,  "only  it  involves  a  good  deal  of 
family  history — and  my  boyhood.  I  rarely  say  any- 
thing about  it,  but  to  you,  Kate,  I  should  not  mind — 
I  should  be  glad  if  you  were  interested.  ...  It  was 
one  of  the  things  I  thought  of  last  night — what  utter 
strangers  we  were  to  each  other — in  reality.  It  is 
part  of  my  presumption,  asking  for  your  interest  when 
you  know  so  little  of  me,  or  my  family. ' ' 

"I  should  like  to  hear  anything  you  can  tell  me 
about  that  desolate  house,"  Kate  said,  with  a  degree 
of  feeling  that  astonished  Horton.  "It  impressed 
me — that  place.  I  have  thought  of  it  constantly." 
She  had  ignored  the  personal  in  what  he  had  said, 
and  as  if  conscious  of  it,  or  urged  by  some  other 
feeling,  she  added  almost  timidly,  "It  was  not  the 
house  alone  that  interested  me;  the  name  connected 
it  with  you  at  once,  and  I  wondered,  and  wanted  very 
much  to  know  more  of  your  family.  I  felt  sure  that 
you  would  come  to-day,  and  I  intended  to  ask  you." 

Horton  was  struck  anew  by  his  utter  inability  to 
understand  her,  but  he  felt  both  surprise  and  pleas- 
ure. Her  confession  implied  interest ;  he  had  not  been 
forgotten;  the  very  fact  that  she  had  searched  for 

192 


History  and  a  Reason 

his  home,  showed  that  he  was  in  her  thoughts.  His 
cheeks  grew  warm,  and  his  voice  eager.  "There  is 
nothing  about  my  family  or  myself  I  shall  not  be  glad 
to  tell  you,  Kate,  if  you  have  the  patience  and  desire 
to  listen.  It  would  be  joy  enough  to  me  to  feel  that 

you  cared "  He  stopped,  abruptly,  fearful  of 

his  own  impetuosity. 

She  flushed  painfully,  but  her  answer  was  given 
with  composure,  and  she  met  his  look  steadily.  "I 
should  like  to  hear  about  the  house,  and  about  the 
Paynes — is  yours  a  California  family?  I  remember 
you  told  me  you  were  born  here." 

"No,"  H'orton  said,  "we  are  from  Carolina, 
originally,  but  aside  from  my  father  and  his  cousin 
James  Payne  I  know  very  little  of  the  family.  I 
only  know  that  my  father  was  proud  of  his  name,  and 
that  the  family  was  Southern  in  its  sympathies,  and 
well-to-do  before  the  war.  I  have  never  even  met 
the  Paynes  who  have  an  interest  in  the  remainder  of 
that  Los  Angeles  tract.  They  are  distant  relatives.  I 
know  that  both  my  father  and  his  cousin  James  had 
Northern  investments,  and  after  the  war  they  left 
Charleston  and  went  to  New  York,  where  my  father, 
who  was  steady  and  conservative,  went  into  business, 
and  James,  who  was  brilliant,  but  reckless,  to  gam- 
bling in  stocks.  They  both  made  money,  and  my 
father  married  first.  He  married  a  Miss  Gregory  of 
New  York,  and  almost  immediately  afterwards  James 
13  193 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

married  a  Miss  Selwyn  of  Baltimore."  Horton 
paused  for  a  moment  for  Kate  had  changed  her  posi- 
tion, drawing  further  back  into  the  window,  her  face 
half  averted,  her  eyes  lowered.  He  had  talked  so  far 
without  thinking  much  of  what  he  was  saying,  for  he 
had  been  trying  to  read  her  expression.  He  frowned 
now  as  he  went  on.  "There  was  a  tangle  in  my 
mother's  love  affairs  that  made  trouble  for  me  later 
on.  She  had  been  engaged  to  James  Payne  two  years 
when  she  suddenly  broke  the  engagement  and  married 
my  father.  He  and  his  cousin  had  never  been  con- 
genial, and  their  entirely  different  business  interests 
and  ways  of  life  had  divided  them  still  more.  My 
father  was  a  quiet  man,  determined  and  positive  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes,  and  I  think  his  aversion  to  James 
began  when  they  were  boys.  To  make  matters  worse 
between  them  they  both  loved  my  mother.  James 
was  a  handsomer  man  than  my  father,  and  fascinat- 
ing, particularly  to  women.  I  have  never  known  how 
much  or  how  little  he  loved  my  mother,  for  there 
were  many  other  women  in  his  life,  and  he  told  the 
truth  to  very  few  of  them,  but  of  this  I  am  certain, 
he  was  the  one  love  of  my  mother's  life.  Perhaps  her 
fortune  tempted  him,  but  I  don't  pretend  to  judge 
him.  He  figured  in  an  affair  in  New  York  that  was 
too  glaring  in  its  unfaithfulness  for  my  mother's 
pride  to  endure,  and  she  broke  her  engagement  and 
married  my  father.  From  that  day  my  father  and 

194 


History  and  a  Reason 

James  Payne  never  spoke,  and  shortly  afterwards 
James,  as  I  said,  married  Miss  Selwyn.  His  wife  did 
not  live  long  and  left  him  with  a  little  boy,  another 
James  Payne. 

"My  father  had  invested  in  that  land  near  Los 
Angeles,  and  as  my  mother  was  fond  of  California, 
he  built  that  old  house,  and  terraced  the  hill  to  give 
her  pleasure.  I  have  a  packet  of  yellow  letters,  my 
father's  letters  to  his  wife,  and  I  think  I  might  write 
like  that  to  the  woman  I  loved.  I  learned  a  great  deal 
from  those  letters.  I  learned  that  my  mother  was  a 
very  unhappy  woman,  and  more  than  glad  to  spend 
her  time  out  here,  with  my  father  in  New  York  most 
of  the  time.  She  had  all  that  money  could  give  her,  but 
I  remember  her  face  away  back  when  I  first  remem- 
bered things,  and  I  don't  think  it  made  matters  any 
smoother  for  her,  or  that  she  took  any  particular  joy 
in  me. 

"James  Payne  was  running  his  course  pretty  rap- 
idly in  New  York  and  one  day  he  went  to  smash;  it 
was  the  end  that  might  have  been  expected  for  him. 
He  had  plenty  of  assurance,  but  not  enough  nerve  for 
his  vocation.  Then  he  came  out  here,  and  I  first  saw 
him  in  that  garden  that  was  my  playground.  My 
father  soon  followed,  but  I  think  there  was  no  need 
for  his  coming.  My  mother  was  unhappy,  but  she 
was  not  a  woman  who  would  forget  herself.  I  have 
another  bundle  of  letters,  my  mother's  letters  to 

195 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

James  Payne  and  his  to  her,  and  they  cover  a  period 
of  several  years.  Whatever  his  attitude  to  her,  hers 
to  him  was  honest  and  womanly.  I  think,  however, 
that  my  father  was  wretched,  and  that  his  jealousy 
finally  got  the  better  of  him  and  angered  her  terribly. 
A  child  may  have  no  understanding,  but  it  can  feel, 
and  I  was  witness  to  more  than  one  quarrel.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  place  for  me  in  the  general  discomfort. 
"Then  the  thing  happened  that  closed  the  house 
and  left  the  garden  to  go  to  ruin.  My  bedroom  was 
at  the  end  of  the  upper  hall,  and  I  was  waked  one 
night  by  a  loud  report.  It  was  not  more  than  nine 
o'clock,  and  the  servants  were  still  up  and  down- 
stairs. It  was  raining  hard,  and  blowing,  and  I  was 
the  only  one,  apparently,  that  heard.  I  was  terrified, 
but  I  crept  out  into  the  hall.  When  I  opened  my  eyes 
there  was  a  light  there,  but  when  I  reached  it,  it  was 
gone.  The  hall  was  dark,  except  for  the  dim  light 
from  the  big  window  at  the  end,  and  I  ran  for  the 
stairs,  but  did  not  scream,  for  there  was  some  one 
moving  in  the  hall  beside  myself.  I  don't  know  just 
how  I  knew  it,  but  as  I  ran  I  saw  it,  for  just  one 
minute.  It  stood  tall  between  me  and  the  light  from 
the  window,  the  form  of  a  man,  that  bent  and  ducked 
back  into  the  shadow.  My  bare  foot  stepped  on 
something  soft  and  warm,  and  then  I  screamed,  and 
stumbled,  and  fell.  I  was  wild  with  fright,  and  I 
shrieked,  and  shrieked,  and  the  servants  rushed  up 

196 


History  and  a  Reason 

and  lifted  me  from  something  that  lay  still ;  I  can 
close  my  eyes  now  and  see  it  all,  the  flaring  light  that 
they  carried,  their  circle  of  terrified  faces,  and  the 
form  on  the  floor.  Then  some  one  bent  and  lifted  his 
head  and  I  saw  that  it  was  my  father.  There  was  a 
dark  spot  on  his  forehead,  and  the  light  showed  the 
pistol  that  lay  by  his  hand. 

' '  They  carried  me  away,  shivering  and  crying,  and 
sent  for  my  mother  who  had  gone  to  some  party  in  the 
town.  She  came,  it  seemed  to  me  a  long  time  after- 
wards, and  held  me  in  her  arms,  and  I  told  her  about 
it,  and  then  others  questioned  me,  and  every  inch  of 
the  house  was  searched,  but  they  found  nothing  at  all, 
not  even  an  open  window.  The  pistol  beside  my 
father  was  his  own,  and  there  were  those  who  had 
heard  him  say  that  he  did  not  care  to  live.  James 
Payne  was  sent  for,  and  he  came  from  San  Francisco. 
Kate,  I  may  have  been  dreaming,  I  may  have  seen  a 
shadow,  it  may  have  been  a  dozen  things  that  were 
suggested,  but  so  far  as  I  am  concerned — to  my 
dying  day — I  shall  know  that  some  one  stole  along  the 
wall  before  me  in  that  hall,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
between  me  and  the  window."  Horton  stopped, 
breathing  quickly,  and  Kate  said  nothing. 

"There  were  bitter  things  said  about  my  mother," 
Horton  continued,  "for  there  was  a  general  impres- 
sion of  family  inharmony.  In  time  she  came  to 
know  what  was  said,  and  she  had  to  bear  the  blame 

197 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

for  my  father's  suicide,  as  well  as  the  troubles  she 
brought  upon  herself  by  her  second  marriage.  She 
held  out  against  James  for  two  years,  but  her  love 
was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  married  him."  Hor- 
ton's  voice  shook.  "He  broke  her  heart  little  by 
little,  while  he  paid  for  his  pleasures  with  her  fortune. 
My  father's  money  he  could  not  touch — except  as  my 
mother  had  the  income — that  was  left  to  me.  As  a 
boy  I  knew  how  he  lived,  and  so  did  his  own  son.  He 
would  not  quarrel  with  me,  he  was  always  suave  and 
even  kindly,  but  he  did  as  he  pleased,  regardless  of 
any  of  us.  He  demanded  money  of  my  mother,  smil- 
ingly, or  he  caressed  her  with  one  hand  while  he  stole 

with  the  other "    Kate  drew  a  quivering  sigh, 

and  Horton  stopped  abruptly.  " Forgive  me,  Kate," 
he  said,  "I  shall  say  not  another  word.  Why  should 
T  tell  you  such  things — they  are  sickening.  Only 
when  I  think  of  that  man," — his  voice  rose, — "and 
his  son, — for  he  was  another  just  like  him,  only  a  gen- 
eration worse, — I  am  beside  myself  with  rage.  I  had 
no  home  because  of  those  two,  I  was  sent  around  to 
different  schools,  usually  with  James,  who  was  just 
about  as  bad  a  companion  as  a  boy  could  have,  until 
I  learned  to  despise  him  too  much  for  him  to  influence 
me.  It  was  the  helpless  sense  of  shame  and  loathing 
of  those  two,  and  the  feeling  of  pity  for  my  mother, 
and  anger  at  her  attitude  to  me,  that  ruined  my  boy- 
hood, and  hurried  me  into  follies.  My  mother  died 

198 


History  and  a  Reason 

when  I  was  twenty,  Kate,  an  unhappy,  broken  woman, 
and  I  hated  my  early  associations  so  thoroughly  that 
I  dropped  them  as  soon  as  I  could.  I  had  been  left 
with  ample  means,  and  I  had  a  boy's  desire  for  ex- 
perience, and  a  wish  to  see  the  world.  I  wandered 
about  for  three  years,  and  naturally  I  did  foolish 
things;  three  spendthrift  years  were  enough  to  leave 
me  seriously  hampered.  When  I  first  met  you,  Kate, 
I  had  just  taken  stock,  and  reached  a  conclusion  or 
two.  I  had  decided  to  have  done  with  folly,  and  go 
to  work.  There  was  some  of  my  father's  business 
sense  coming  to  the  surface.  I  liked  this  country  out 
here — my  father  had  left  me  all  of  that  orange  land 
that  needed  to  be  developed  and  cared  for,  and  I 
decided  to  make  a  home  here.  That  was  it,  Kate, 
really,  the  motive  under  every  other;  I  wanted  a 
home  and  a  little  home  tenderness.  As  a  child  I  had 
craved  it,  and  when  I  was  twenty  I  wanted  it  even 
more.  I  looked  into  your  eyes  and  what  I  saw  there 
answered  to  my  desire — I  don't  know  any  other  way 
to  express  it,  and,  Kate, — but  what  am  I  talking 

about "    His  voice  dropped  suddenly,  and  lifting 

his  shoulders  impatiently,  he  got  to  his  feet,  an  un- 
controllable impulse  with  him  when  struggling  with 
difficulties.  "I  am  such  an  absolute  fool,"  he  said 
through  his  teeth.  ' '  I  swore  to  keep  hold  on  myself — 
I  began  to  tell  you  why  I  never  wanted  to  see  that 
house  again,  and  I  have  washed  the  Payne  family's 

199 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

soiled  linen  in  your  presence — and  gone  on  to  talk 
about  myself!  I  seem  to  be  fated  to  do  the  wrong 
thing  and  displease  you — whatever  I  do— — "  He 
stopped,  helplessly,  scarlet  with  anger  at  himself. 

"You  have  not  displeased  me,"  Kate  said,  quickly. 
"It  was  I  who  asked  you  to  tell — to  tell  me  what  you 
have.  I  understand  you — and  many  other  things. — 
much  better  now.  I  know  what  your  boyhood  must 
have  been — I  understand  it  better  than  you  think." 
Her  eyes  were  brilliant,  her  voice  uncertain.  She 
paused  for  a  moment,  then  spoke  more  deliberately. 
"Please  sit  down.  I  have  been  interested  in  every- 
thing you  have  said,  and  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about 
something  else.  .  .  .  When  I  was  at  the  Summit 
Hill  house  the  person  who  took  me  around  the  grounds 
was  a  young  girl,  and  I  have  been  thinking  about  her 
more  than  about  the  place.  She  was  very  pretty,  quite 
unusual  looking,  and  she  told  me  her  name  was 
Payne — Paquita  Payne.  She  seemed  so  out  of  place 
there — she  interested  me  very  much." 

"Paquita  Payne!"  Horton  said.  He  looked  at 
Kate  in  puzzled  surprise.  "I  don't  know  any  Payne 
by  that  name." 

"She  spoke  of  the  people  who  had  charge  of  her 
as  being  Spanish,  she  called  the  woman  Inez,  but  said 
she  was  not  related  to  her." 

"Spanish — "  Horton  repeated.  His  face  dark- 
ened. 

200 


History  and  a  Reason 

"I  said  then  that  I  supposed  she  had  an  interest 
in  the  property,  and  she  said,  'Oh,  no,'  that  she  and 
Inez  just  stayed  with  Anita,  the  old  woman  who  has 
charge  of  the  place."  Kate  spoke  less  clearly  and 
deliberately,  but  Horton  was  intent  on  what  she  was 
saying. 

The  color  that  the  agitation  of  the  few  moments 
before  had  brought  to  his  face  was  fading.  He  was 
silent,  his  air  thoughtful;  then  he  said  quietly,  "I 
suppose  it  is  some  member  of  the  family  I  don 't  know ; 
there  might  be  an  army  of  them  encamped  there,  and 
I  not  know  it — I  will  ask  my  agent  about  it."  His 
manner  was  a  dismissal  of  the  subject,  but  he  frowned 
heavily  as  he  looked  down  on  the  floor,  his  brows 
drawn  down  into  almost  a  straight  line,  his  jaw  set- 
ting. Kate  observed  him,  her  own  look  troubled. 

"You  mentioned  the  Selwyns  of  Baltimore  a  short 
time  ago — do  you  know  the  Selwyns  at  all?"  Kate 
asked. 

' '  The  Selwyns  ? ' '  Horton 's  look  came  back  to  her. 
"You  mean  my  brother  James's  mother's  family? 
No,  only  by  name — James  was  my  brother  as  well  as 
my  cousin,  you  see,"  his  lip  lifted.  "Why,  do  you 
know  them,  Kate?" 

"I  knew  of  them — a  good  many  years  ago.  You 
just  spoke  of  your  brother, — is  he  living  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  he  is  living,"  said  Horton,  shortly. 

201 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"I  couldn't  help  wondering  what  had  become  of 
him." 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  keep  track  of  Mr.  James 
Selwyn  Payne,"  Horton  said,  icily.  "I  thank  God 
I  am  not  his  keeper ! ' '  He  lifted  his  shoulders  with  an 
angry  gesture;  then  his  voice  dropped  to  a  note  of 
tenderness,  "Forgive  me,  Kate,  I  never  even  say  that 
man 's  name  to  myself  if  I  can  help  it. ' ' 

"From  what  you  have  told  me  I  can  understand 
why  you  feel  so.  It  is  all  very  interesting — what  you 
have  told  me — and  I  thank  you  very  much.  I  did  not 
want  to  seem  curious,  but  I  was  impressed  by  my 
afternoon  at  your  old  home — I  have  been  haunted 
by  it."  Kate's  hands  were  clasped  before  her  on  the 
table  and  she  bent  forward  a  little,  her  eyes  on  Horton, 
but  he  had  a  curious  feeling  that  she  was  looking  be- 
yond him  at  some  vision  of  her  own,  and  that  her 
thoughts  were  engrossed  by  it.  He  felt  that  he  had 
little  place  in  what  was  passing  in  her  mind,  and  he 
was  touched  by  a  sense  of  chill,  a  feeling  of  isolation. 
It  lasted  only  a  moment,  for  Kate  took  her  hands  from 
the  table  and  sat  straight.  "Would  you  like  to  see 
my  garden?"  she  asked.  "The  sun  is  low  now  and 
it  will  be  cool." 

Horton  acquiesced  gladly,  and  the  following  half 
hour  brought  him  a  certain  degree  of  happiness,  for 
Kate's  manner  to  him  was  that  of  the  earlier  afternoon. 
When  he  took  his  leave  he  asked  her  for  the  rose  she 

202 


History  and  a  Reason 

had  been  carrying,  and  she  gave  it  to  him  without 
hesitation.  "I  have  broken  the  stem,"  she  said,  "I 
think  you  would  better  take  another." 

"No,  I  want  this  one,"  he  said,  with  emphasis,  and 
as  he  took  it  from  her  hand  all  the  suppressed  feeling 
of  the  afternoon  sprang  into  the  look  he  gave  her. 
She  met  it  gravely,  even  sadly,  her  vivacity  with  its 
touch  of  excitement  quieted  for  the  moment.  It  was 
not  until  Horton  was  ready  to  mount  his  horse  that 
Kate  said,  "I  expect  to  go  to  Los  Angeles  again  to- 
morrow, but  I  hope  you  will  come  to  see  Aunt  Silence 
— I  know  she  will  ask  you  to  come." 

Horton  turned  to  her  in  surprise  and  disappoint- 
ment. "But  you  have  just  returned,  Kate!" 

"I  shall  have  to  go  again — I  hope  only  for  a  day 
or  two,"  Kate  said. 

"Not  longer,  Kate?" 

"I  hope  not — but  I  shall  write  to  Aunt  Silence 

if  I  am  kept  a  day  or  two  longer "  and  Hortoii 

felt  that  there  was  nothing  more  he  could  say. 


VIII. 

A  MONOLOGUE 

KATE  had  said  that  she  would  be  gone  only  a  few 
days,  but  her  absence  lengthened  out  into  a  week, 
and  during  that  time  Horton  haunted  the  house  be- 
side the  ocean.  The  next  day  after  Kate's  departure 
he  had  received  a  note  from  Mrs.  Silence,  bidding  him 
to  afternoon  tea  with  her.  "Of  course,"  said  that 
lady,  in  her  very  characteristic  communication,  "we 
have  never  met,  but  Kate  has  given  me  an  introduc- 
tion by  proxy,  which  is  quite  sufficient,  considering 
that  it  was  Kate  who  gave  it.  I  am  not  playing 
bridge  for  a  time,  for  I  am  depressed  by  the  death 
of  a  favorite  kid,  a  beautiful  creature,  and  I  intend 
to  spend  my  afternoons  at  home  for  a  time.  If  you 
care  to  drop  in  and  take  tea  with  an  old  woman  who 
is  not  in  the  best  of  spirits,  I  shall  be  very  pleased 
indeed." 

"Now,"  said  Horton,  as  he  returned  the  missive 
to  its  envelope,  "if  I  were  not  acquainted  with  the 
sad  end  of  Abdulla,  that  reference  would  be  a  little 
ambiguous."  He  would  most  gladly  have  faced 
twenty  old  ladies  for  the  mere  satisfaction  of  sitting 
in  Kate's  garden  and  hearing  her  name  spoken,  and 
he  prepared  for  his  call  with  a  good  deal  of  eagerness. 

204 


A  Monologue 

It  was  the  first  of  a  succession  of  such  visits. 
},Iore  than  once  it  was  not  just  the  latter  part  of  the 
afternoon  that  Horton  spent  listening  to  Mrs.  Silence's 
fluent  conversation,  but  when  the  shadows  threatened 
night  he  would  be  cordially  urged  to  stay  to  dinner 
and  spend  the  evening.  He  did  not  decline;  he  was 
far  happier  there  than  in  any  other  spot.  Mrs. 
Silence  made  no  concealment  of  her  liking  for  him, 
and  Horton  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  society.  It  had 
its  foundation  in  respect  and  liking  on  his  part.  He 
discovered  why  it  was  that  she  was  a  universal  favor- 
ite, and  the  reason  of  Kate 's  evident  affection  for  her. 

Mrs.  Clarissa  Silence  was  an  oddity,  but  she  was  a 
thoroughly  worldly-wise  oddity,  and  a  capable  match 
for  any  one  of  the  sharp  tongues  about  her.  She  was 
humorous,  quick,  rarely  anything  but  genial  in  her 
sarcasm,  and  impersonal  in  her  attitude  toward  mat- 
ters that  did  not  concern  her.  She  was  shrewd  in 
her  estimate  of  character,  and  an  unusual  combina- 
tion of  tact  and  frankness,  tempered  by  an  indestruct- 
ible fund  of  cheer.  She  gave  Horton  a  half  hour's 
scrutiny,  and  took  him  into  her  small  inner  circle. 
He  was  introduced  to  the  mysteries  of  the  stable- 
yard,  as  well  as  the  sweet-scented  intricacies  of  Kate 's 
garden,  and  each  room  of  the  charming  low-ceilinged 
house.  He  was  even  taken  within  the  threshold  of 
Kate's  white  and  blue,  and  gold  bedchamber.  "It  is 
like  her,  isn't  it?"  Aunt  Silence  had  said,  looking  a 

205 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

long  way  up  to  the  tall  man  whose  blue  eyes  darkened 
as  they  slowly  travelled  about  the  room,  and  Horton 
had  said,  "Yes,"  in  a  low  voice,  much  as  if  he  were 
standing  in  a  sanctuary. 

He  would  find  the  most  sheltered  place  for  Mrs. 
Silence 's  chair  and  the  most  comfortable  stool  for  her 
feet,  for  Aunt  Silence  seated,  found  some  difficulty  in 
reaching  the  ground,  even  with  the  tips  of  her  toes. 
The  place  abounded  in  stools  and  foot-rests.  At  forty 
she  had  been  short  and  plump,  and  at  fifty-five  she 
appeared  still  shorter  and  more  plump.  Her  cheeks 
were  still  rosy,  her  wide  mouth  had  its  irresistible 
inclination  to  lift  at  one  corner,  and  her  eyes  were 
in  contrast,  an  unwinking  china  blue.  Her  abundant 
gray  hair  was  always  dressed  very  high,  a  brave 
endeavor  to  secure  another  longed-for  inch  of  stature. 

Horton  would  bend  his  long  body,  kneeling  to  ad- 
just the  foot-rest,  until  Aunt  Silence  declared  herself 
very  comfortable.  Then  he  would  be  sent  to  the 
kitchen  with  some  message  concerning  tea,  or  into  some 
remote  corner  of  the  living-room  for  a  bag  of  crochet 
yarn,  for  Mrs.  Silence  crocheted  quite  as  well  as  she 
played  bridge.  As  she  busily  worked,  and  Horton 
sat  stretched  in  a  most  comfortable  garden  chair,  the 
conversation,  or  rather  Aunt  Silence's  monologue, 
would  be  something  like  this. 

"Yes,  when  Kate  comes  back,  I  shall  go  down  to 
Los  Angeles,  that  is  really  my  home,  and  I  have  a 

206 


A  Monologue 

house  there.  I  think  I  shall  stay  ten  days.  There  is 
an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,  a  Mrs.  White  £nd  her 
husband,  he  was  a  professor  of  languages  in  the  east, 
who  have  come  to  Los  Angeles  to  live.  They  don't 
know  the  place  at  all,  and  of  course  it  won 't  suit  them, 
the  people  won't.  I  must  go  down  and  see  what  I 
can  do  for  them.  I  think  perhaps  I  better  stay  sev- 
eral days  with  them,  and  get  them  into  the  right 
church;  it's  the  only  thing  for  them,  I  am  afraid." 
Aunt  Silence  was  thoughtful.  "You  see,"  she  con- 
tinued, "Mrs.  White  is  rather — well — obtuse,  of  course 
very  nice,  but  obtuse  and  quite  well  pleased  with  her- 
self. Her  husband's  been  a  dean  or  something  in  a 
college,  so  she  considers  their  position  unassailable. 
I  went  to  school  with  Amanda  White  when  I  was  a 
girl,  and  she  never  had  any  more  sense  of  humor  than 
she  has  now.  I  visited  them  once  in  Boston,  and 
it  was  quite  an  experience.  Mrs.  White  gave  a 
luncheon  for  me — all  professors'  wives — and  she  was 
deploring  the  fact  that  she  had  no  children.  'It 
is  so  much  easier  to  keep  house  if  there  are  children, ' 
said  Amanda.  'They  always  eat  up  the  scraps  so. 
Mr.  White  and  I  never  can  dispose  of  even  a  small 
roast. ' 

"  'Well,  why  don't  you  keep  pigs?'  said  one  of  the 
women,  promptly,  and  Amanda  never  smiled.  'Why, 
they  wouldn't  let  us  keep  them  in  the  city,  would 
they?'  she  asked  gravely."  Horton  chuckled,  his 

207 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

pleasant  eyes  twinkling.  Aunt  Silence's  mouth 
twitched  slightly.  "I  am  afraid  they  may  not  enjoy 
it  out  here, ' '  she  remarked. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  go  away,"  Horton  said. 
"Let  the  Whites  struggle  along  by  themselves  for  a 
time — it  will  do  them  good." 

Aunt  Silence  shook  her  head,  "I  have  to  go 
really.  It  is  time  I  gave  my  house  an  airing,  only 
Hop  will  be  grieved.  He  thinks  this  place  could  not 
thrive  without  him,  and  he  will  be  in  a  nervous  chill 
if  he  thinks  a  Japanese  is  cleaning  my  windows  in 
Los  Angeles  and  he  not  there  to  make  life  unbearable 
for  him." 

"Hop  seems  to  be  devoted  to  you,"  Horton  re- 
marked, smiling  in  remembrance  of  the  conversation 
he  had  overheard  a  few  nights  before, 

"Yes,  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Silence,  with  some  pride. 
"He  has  kept  house  for  me  for  twenty  years.  As 
regularly  as  his  New  Year  comes  he  says,  'I  go  back 
China  in  one  month,'  and  I  say,  'Very  good,  Hop, 
then  I  get  married  right  away.  I  must  have  a  man 
in  the  house,'  and  he  grunts,  and  that  is  the  last  I 
hear  of  it.  The  first  time  or  two  I  was  thrown  into 
a  panic  by  it,  and  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  was 
a  joke,  a  Chinese  joke.  I  have  grown  terribly  de- 
pendent on  Hop.  I  have  been  ill  only  once  in  my 
life,  that  was  years  ago,  and  I  was  sure  I  was  going 
to  have  appendicitis — that  was  when  it  was  the  right 

208 


A  Monologue 

thing  to  die  of  it.  It  came  on  suddenly,  and  I  called 
for  Hop.  'Hop/  I  said,  'I  am  heap  sick,  get  the 
doctor. '  He  ran  for  him,  and  he  turned  green  while 
I  groaned.  You  see  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
was  appendicitis,  the  pain  was  twice  as  bad.  'I  have 
appendicitis,'  I  said.  'I  will  die  right  away.'  It  is 
the  only  time  I  have  seen  tears  in  Hop's  eyes.  'You 
damn  liar,'  he  said,  choking,  and  I  never  felt  more 
comforted  in  my  life,  for  I  did  so  hope  that  I  was 
Whenever  I  am  in  great  trouble  Hop  swears,  and  you 
have  no  idea  what  a  help  it  is.  It's  more  comforting 
than  doing  it  yourself,  and  you  don't  feel  so 
responsible. ' ' 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  be,"  said  Horton.  "I 
never  thought  of  it  from  that  standpoint ;  I  never  had 
any  one  to  do  it  for  me.  .  .  .  But  did  you  have 
appendicitis,  Mrs.  Silence?" 

"No,"  said  Aunt  Silence  in  disgust.  "The  doctor 
made  me  so  angry  I  never  had  him  again.  He  told 
me  not  to  eat  "Welsh  rabbit  again,  and  acted  in  such  a 
bored  way — if  I  didn't  actually  have  appendicitis,  I 
know  I  had  the  beginnings  of  it." 

"Does  Hop  comfort  Miss  Talworth  in  the  same 
way?"  Horton  asked,  unable  to  avoid  the  one  subject 
long. 

Aunt  Silence  smiled  a  little  over  her  crocheting. 
"No,  indeed.    Hop  is  quite  amusing  about  Kate.     I 
loan  him  to  her  while  we  are  together,  for  that  is 
14  209 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

most  of  the  time  now,  and  he  treats  her  as  if  she  were 
a  superior  heing.  For  a  time  he  would  only  grunt 
when  she  spoke  to  him;  then  he  informed  me  that, 
'  She  heap  fine  woman, '  and  there  has  been  no  trouble 
since.  He  looks  after  Kate's  interests  just  as  he  does 
after  mine.  I  have  known  Kate  for  five  years  now,  I 
met  her  the  year  before  Mr.  Talworth  died,  and  Hop 
has  taken  care  of  us  for  almost  four  years." 

"From  what  I  have  heard,  Miss  Talworth  must 
have  had  rather  a  trying  time  with  her  uncle, ' '  Horton 
remarked. 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Silence,  judicially,  "if  I  had 
been  Kate  I  should  have  mixed  something  perma- 
nently soothing  with  his  coffee ;  but  Kate  is  Kate,  and 
after  I  saw  something  of  them  together  I  discovered 
that  that  old  man  was  really  fond  of  her ;  he  couldn  't 
help  it.  He  and  I  used  to  fight  like  two  Billy  goats, 
it  was  diversion  for  him  and  took  his  mind  off  his 
pains  and  his  money,  and  gave  Kate  a  rest.  I  went 
up  to  Arrowhead  Springs  once  to  recover  from  too 
many  luncheons,  and  there  I  met  them — that  yellow 
old  man,  and  that  beautiful  girl,  for  you  know,  I 
think  Kate  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  met,  and 
a  very  unusual  character.  I  regularly  laid  siege  to 
her,  and  you  have  no  idea  of  the  difficulties  I  had,  it 
was  months  before  she  even  allowed  me  within  arm's 
length,  and  now,  though  I  know  she  loves  me,  Kate 
has  her  reservations.  She  is  the  most  absolutely  per- 

210 


A  Monologue 

feet  person  to  dwell  under  the  same  roof  with,  and 
she  is  frank  and  sweet  with  me  always,  but  I  would 
no  more  think  of  questioning  anything  Kate  does,  or 
has  done,  than  I  would  think  of  flying  over  to  Anacapa 
Island  and  living  on  shell-fish.  Different  women  ac- 
complish things  in  different  ways,  that  is  if  they  have 
character  enough  to  accomplish  anything  at  all,  and 
Kate's  great  strength  is  in  her  silence.  Her  fascina- 
tion lies  in  what  she  does  not  say,  and  men  are  in- 
variably devoted  to  her.  Away  back  when  she  had  no 
opportunity  to  meet  anybody,  only  just  the  chance 
acquaintances  at  different  places  where  they  were — 
and  Kate  was  not  easy  to  meet — she  had  plenty  of 
opportunities  to  leave  that  old  man.  The  envious 
here  love  to  say  that  it  is  her  money,  but  it  is  not — 
it  is  just  Kate.  And  I  can  understand  it.  If  I  were 
a  man  I  should  never  be  able  to  rest  until  I  made  her 
love  me  enough  to  tell  me  what  it  is  she  is  really  think- 
ing and  feeling.  If  I  were  a  man  I  should  go  round 
the  world  for  her,  and  if  she  were  difficult  I  should 

be  that  much  the  more  determined "    Mrs.  Silence 

stopped  for  breath,  apparently  quite  unconscious  of 
Horton's  flushed  interest.  He  longed  to  ask  her  a 
question,  and  Aunt  Silence  perhaps  surmised  that  he 
did,  for  she  proceeded  to  answer  him  in  a  way. 

"I  have  to  confess,"  she  said,  "that  I  do  not  un- 
derstand Kate.  She  is  pre-eminently  a  woman  who 
should  marry.  I  know  that  she  can  be  tremendously 

211 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

interested  in  a  man — devoted  to  him  in  a  way  few 
women  would  be,  but  she  seems  to  be  unable  to  bring 
herself  to  marry.  I  think  she  has  a  real  distrust  of 
marriage — at  least  so  it  seems  to  me — and  a  dislike 
to  give  up  her  independence.  It  is  my  settled  quarrel 
with  Kate," — Mrs.  Silence  smiled, — "and  a  subject 
I  have  only  dared  discuss  with  her  once.  I  shall 
never  attempt  it  again,  but  I  will  be  the  lifelong 
friend  of  the  man  who  will  succeed  in  making  her 
change  her  mind." 

Horton  smiled  faintly,  then  he  said,  "Miss  Tal- 
worth  must  find  it  hot  in  the  city." 

"She  does,"  Aunt  Silence  replied,  "and  I  wish 
she  would  come  back.  She  says  in  her  last  letter  that 
she  will  be  only  a  day  or  two  longer.  I  thought  of 
course  that  my  nephew,  Richard  Allison,  was  there, 
they  always  have  plenty  of  business  matters  to  dis- 
cuss when  there  is  nothing  else,  but  she  tells  me  that 
he  has  gone  east,  and  she  has  not  seen  him.  This 
morning  I  had  a  letter  from  him  written  on  his  way, 
and  as  usual  he  gives  me  advice  about  my  real  estate, ' ' 
— Mrs.  Silence's  manner  was  half  amused,  half  an- 
noyed,— "and  he  says  he  will  be  gone  several  weeks, 
no  fixed  address.  He  must  have  a  dearth  of  business 
just  now,  or  he  wouldn't  consent  to  a  holiday — I 
didn't  know  he  could  be  brought  to  take  one."  Aunt 
Silence's  tone  was  slightly  sarcastic.  "You  don't 
know  my  nephew,  do  you?"  she  said.  "He  is  a  very 

212 


A  Monologue 

clever  man.  I  am  really  pr.oud  of  him  in  some  ways, 
but  he  gets  on  my  nerves,  too,  he  is  so  strenuous.  He 
thinks  I  am  wild  because  I  choose  to  take  my  life  in 
my  own  way,  and  I  think  he  thinks  too  much  of 
Richard  Allison,  so  we  do  not  always  agree,  but 
on  the  whole  I  am  proud  of  him.  He  was  a  poor 
boy,  and  he  has  done  wonders  for  himself.  He  is  a 
brilliant  lawyer,  and  a  shrewd  business  man,  and  I 
expect  him  to  be  very  rich  one  of  these  days.  I  have 
spent  more  than  half  my  lifetime  in  Southern  Cali- 
fornia and  I  have  never  known  a  man  who  understood 
its  possibilities  as  Richard  does.  He  has  made  a  study 
of  it.  I  think  the  thing  I  like  best  about  my  nephew 
is  that  he  has  clung  to  his  profession  in  spite  of  the 
temptations  he  has  had  to  just  give  himself  up  to 
money  making." 

"I  have  never  met  Mr.  Allison,"  Horton  said, 
"and  I  have  only  seen  him  once,  years  ago.  I  remem- 
ber him  as  a  forceful  person  even  then." 

' '  He  is  certainly  that, ' '  Aunt  Silence  was  positive. 
"Physically  he  is  powerful,  and  mentally  he  is  keen 
and  inclined  to  be  hard,  but  my  nephew  has  his  weak- 
nesses also — and  some  very  vulnerable  spots. ' ' 

"It  is  a  type  most  women  admire,"  said  Horton, 
quietly. 

"Well — perhaps "  Aunt  Silence  replied. 


IX. 

A  FOGGY  NIGHT 

IT  was  on  a  foggy  night  some  ten  days  later  that 
Horton  stood  before  the  bright  fire  in  Kate's  living- 
room,  thoughtfully  watching  the  sparks  as  they  flew 
up  the  chimney.  The  fog  was  so  heavy  that  it  was 
almost  a  rain,  and  when  Hop  ushered  him  into  the 
warmly-lighted  room  he  had  gone  straight  to  the 
hearth-rug.  The  wind  came  in  from  the  ocean,  rolling 
the  fog  before  it,  and  Horton  had  ridden  the  four 
miles  from  his  hotel  enveloped  in  its  moist  folds. 

Kate  had  returned,  and  he  had  seen  her  several 
times.  She  complained  that  the  city  had  been  hot 
and  tiring,  and  certainly  she  looked  far  from  well. 
Her  eyes  were  heavy,  and  her  usually  delicate  color 
either  wanting  entirely,  or  deepened  to  an  unnatural 
degree.  She  was  either  feverish  in  her  animation, 
or  so  silent  as  to  appear  apathetic.  Horton  under- 
stood better  now  what  it  was  that  had  previously  im- 
pressed him  as  unusual  in  her  manner;  the  touch  of 
suppressed  excitement  had  increased  to  a  feverish 
unrest.  Mrs.  Silence  observed  her  gravely,  as  did 
Horton,  but  neither  made  any  comment.  Her  man- 
ner to  Horton  was  friendly,  but  he  was  not  blind, 
and  he  realized  that  he  did  not  even  hold  her  atten- 

214 


A  Foggy  Night 

tion.  With  the  desperation  of  the  starving  he  had 
seized  upon  the  crumb  of  friendship  she  had  offered 
him,  and  fed  upon  it  during  her  absence,  but  friend- 
ship demands  some  degree  of  confidence  and  consider- 
ation, and  Kate  seemed  to  have  returned  in  a  state 
of  preoccupation  too  complete  for  remembrance.  Hor- 
ton  doubted  if  in  her  abstraction  she  even  half  realized 
his  presence.  With  whom  were  her  thoughts,  and  for 
whom  was  the  brooding  look  in  her  sombre  eyes? 

Horton  had  spent  a  week  of  suffering  that  had 
taken  the  light  from  his  eyes,  and  brought  lines  into 
his  face.  A  perfect  torment  of  jealousy  was  gnawing 
at  him,  and  he  had  come  by  degrees  to  the  necessity 
of  granting  the  futility  of  his  suit;  but  the  greater 
wretchedness  lay  in  the  realization  of  Kate's  entire 
isolation  from  him.  Through  years  he  had  carried 
with  him  the  conviction  of  her  unhappiness,  but  it 
settled  upon  him  now  with  an  intensity  that  was  un- 
bearable. The  indifference  with  which  she  shut  him 
out  from  any  part  in  her  very  evident  distress  of 
mind  cut  to  his  most  sensitive  nerve  of  feeling.  He 
had  come  to  the  point  of  actual  desperation ;  he  could 
no  longer  endure  the  position  he  was  forced  to 
occupy;  his  self-respect  revolted  from  it.  His  love 
was  growing  into  an  obsession,  yet  he  had  no  power 
whatever  to  move  her.  She  passed  him  by — his  very 
presence  was  futile,  unnecessary. 

Horton  was  so  intent  on  the  shifting  visions  in  the 

215 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

fire  that  he  did  not  hear  the  soft  sweep  of  Kate's 
gown,  or  feel  her  presence,  until  she  was  almost  be- 
side him.  "What  Absolute  concentration,"  she  said, 
in  her  sweet  voice,  and  Horton  turned  quickly,  his 
sullen  brows  lifting,  his  lips  twitching  slightly  as  he 
looked  at  her.  "I  am  sorry  you  have  been  neglected 
so  long,"  she  continued,  "but  Aunt  Silence  is  out 
for  dinner  and  an  evening  of  bridge,  and  I  was  too 
lazy  to  dress.  I  hurried  when  I  heard  your  step 
on  the  porch." 

"Why  did  you  trouble,"  he  said.  "You  know 
perfectly  well,  Kate,  that  you  are  beautiful  to  me  no 
matter  what  you  wear.  I  had  all  sorts  of  preferences 
in  colors  until  the  last  two  weeks;  now  they  are 
equally  lovely — except  black.  I  like  you  best  in  that, 
for  I  first  saw  you  in  it.  I  am  glad  you  are  wearing 
it  to-night."  She  had  not  given  him  her  hand,  and 
they  stood  side  by  side. 

"I  like  it  best  myself,"  she  said,  quietly;  "it  is 
such  a  convenient  color.  ...  I  am  afraid  you  found 
it  a  disagreeable  ride  along  the  beach.  I  stayed  out 
on  the  bank  just  as  long  as  I  could  stand  it  before 
dinner.  It  was  wonderful  watching  the  fog  roll  along 
over  the  water.  My  hair  was  quite  wet  when  I  came 
in." 

"It  is  soft  and  dry  now."  He  looked  down  at  the 
loose  wave  that  almost  hid  her  small  ear,  and  watched 
the  firelight  touch  it  into  gold.  Her  gown  was  simple 

216 


A  Foggy  Night 

in  the  extreme,  cut  square  in  the  neck,  a  plain  black 
edge  against  her  white  skin.  There  was  a  gleam  of 
white  arm  beneath  the  clinging  open-work  of  her 
sleeve,  but  she  wore  no  ornament  whatever.  The 
muscles  in  Horton's  cheek  twitched,  and  he  set  his 
jaw  hard.  "Kate,"  he  said,  very  low,  "I  am  going 
away — I  came  to-night  to  tell  you." 

She  was  quite  silent,  not  looking  at  him,  and  then 
she  said  in  tones  as  low  as  his,  "I  think  you  are  right. 
...  I  wanted  you  to  see  for  yourself  how  it  is." 

He  continued.  "I  have  tried  not  to  bother  you, 
these  last  few  days,  but  before  I  go  I  want  to  say 
something.  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you, 
you  know  it — as  well  as  I.  It's  been  in  every  word 
I  have  uttered,  in  every  look  I  have  given  you — 
almost  ever  since  I  first  saw  you;  it  is  the  very  air 
I  breathe — it  is  every  atom  and  particle  of  me — you 
have  my  every  thought,  my  innermost  desire — they 
are  yours  alone.  I  could  go  on  talking  about  myself 
but  you  have  no  real  interest  to  give  me,  and  there  is 
no  call  for  it.  ...  I  don't  know  what  it  is  that  is 
weighing  on  you,  Kate,  but  you  are  not  a  happy  wo- 
man, and  I  know  that  better  now  after  seeing  you  dur- 
ing these  last  two  weeks  than  I  did  in  all  those  years 
when  I  had  only  the  remembrance  of  you  to  think  of. 
There  is  something  all  wrong  in  your  life,  and  this  is 
what  I  wanted  to  say — if  there  is  anything  that  I 
could  do  for  you — if  you  would  only  have  confidence 

217 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

enough  in  me  to  trust  me— I  would  serve  you  faith- 
fully,  and  I  think  I  could  forget  myself;  I  should 
try.  I  want  you  to  understand  that,  Kate;  that  if 
you  ever  need  me,  I  am  yours  to  command.  ...  1 
am  going  away — up  to  my  ranch — and  perhaps  I  shall 
go  east  afterwards — I  am  not  sure — but  if  ever  you 
have  a  word  for  me  it  will  find  me  there  or  be  for- 
warded to  me.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  stay  away 
always,  I  must  have  a  sight  of  you — once  in  a  long 
time — and  there  is  no  use,  I  cannot  choke  every  par- 
ticle of  hope  out  of  myself "  Horton  stopped. 

Kate  had  listened  without  moving,  her  eyes  on  the 
fire,  and  Horton  had  seen  the  color  slowly  flood  her 
face,  and  even  her  neck.  It  faded  away,  leaving  her 
very  pale;  she  looked  like  the  troubled  girl  of  his  first 
recollection,  white-faced  and  tired. 

"I  wanted  to  spare  you — and  myself — just  this 
sort  of  thing,"  she  said,  with  difficulty.  "That  is 
one  reason  why  I  never  let  you  know  where  I  was. 
I  have  known  about  you,  up  at  your  ranch,  the  big 
tracts  you  have  reclaimed,  and  the  busy  life  you  have 
lived,  for  some  time.  I  knew  you  were  the  same  Hor- 
ton Payne  who  was  so  thoughtful  of  a  helpless, 
wretched  girl,  and  I  remembered  it  all  so  distinctly 
that  I  would  make  no  sign.  ...  I  told  you  that 
I  was  your  debtor ;  I  still  am — I  think  I  always  will 
be.  If  there  were  any  way  in  which  you  could  help 
me,  I  should  ask  you  to  do  so,  but  there  is  none  now, 

218 


A  Foggy  Night 

and  I  don't  know  what  may  be  in  the  future.  I 
decided  on  my  course  years  ago,  and  I  shall  not  change 
from  it.  I  have  never  known  talking  to  mend  matters. 
Things  are  as  they  are,  and  I  cannot  change  them,  nor 
you,  nor  any  one  else.  I  appear — I  know  how  I 
appear — but  I  cannot  help  it," — her  lips  trembled, — 
"I  cannot  think  of  love  and  marriage  like  other  wo- 
men— they  do  not  come  into  my  life." 

"Kate,  you  imagine  some  sort  of  a  bond  to  some 
one  or  something — I  don't  pretend  to  say  what — 
but  you  are  shutting  yourself  away  from  happiness 
because  of  it." 

"Possibly,"  she  said,  her  lips  tightening. 

"Tell  me  this,"  and  his  voice  rose  slightly,  "if 
you  felt  free  to  think  of  love  and  marriage  like  other 
women  as  you  say,  is  there  some  one — Kate,  is  there 
some  one  whom  you  love?"  She  was  silent,  and  he 
bent  to  see  her  face.  "Tell  me  the  truth,  Kate,"  he 
said,  his  voice  dropping  to  a  whisper.  "I  shall  have 
to  bear  it.  ...  Is  it  Richard  Allison  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"So — "  he  said,  evenly,  "I  was  quite  right." 
He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  about  him,  a  glance 
vacant  and  restless.  "I  will  just  be  off — I  have  no 
business  here — I  only  take  up  room."  The  misery  in 
his  voice  needed  no  inflection,  and  Kate  turned  to 
him  with  a  cry  of  pain. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  said.    "Why  do  you  make  me 

219 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

hurt  you  like  this.  I  do  love  Richard — you  don't 
know  what  he  has  been  to  me  since — during 
the  time  I  have  known  him.  I  think  I  should  have 
gone  wild  with  loneliness  without  him.  You  force  me 
to  say  what  I  have  never  said  to  him. — no  matter  how 
much  he  has  urged  me.  He  has  begged  me  for  years 
to — to  marry  him;  he  has  done  everything  he  could 
think  of  to  make  me  care  for  him,  and  I  would  not. 
I  could  not,  for  I  was  afraid  of  the  future,  and  I  know 
now  I  was  right.  I  could  help  him  in  some  ways, 
and  think  constantly  of  his  welfare — that  was  alL  I 
told  you  I  would  marry  nobody — nobody  I" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  turning  away,  "I  suppose  it  is 
a  consolation.  .  .  .  Why,  Kate,  I  haven't  a  word  to 
say.  I  have  only  thrust  myself  where  I  don't  belong, 
and  I  will  go — it  will  be  all  right,  you  know,  don't 
you  bother  about  me " 

"But  it  is  not!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  cannot  let 
you  go  like  this ! ' '  She  took  a  step  after  him  and  put 
a  detaining  hand  on  his  arm.  "Horton,  please  listen 
to  me — please."  The  tears  rose  in  her  eyes. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  down  at  her,  and 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  temples,  his  heavy  brows  lift- 
ing, his  eyes  afire,  "Don't  you  know — you  shouldn't 
touch  me,"  he  said,  indistinctly.  "I — oh,  Kate!" 
He  had  whirled  about,  and  his  arms  went  round  her, 
drawing  her  to  him,  and  holding  her  close,  not 
roughly,  but  with  a  strength  that  left  her  powerless. 

220 


A  Foggy  Night 

He  held  her  to  his  breast  without  a  word,  for  breath- 
less moments,  his  lips  in  her  hair.  ' '  I  cannot  help  it, 
— I  cannot,"  he  said,  brokenly.  He  sought  her  cheek, 
but  she  turned  her  face  against  his  breast  with  a 
sigh,  and  he  bent  and  kissed  her  where  the  thick  coil 
of  her  hair  rested  on  her  neck.  "Can  I  help  loving 
you,  Kate?"  he  whispered.  "Can  I  help  it?"  He 
loosened  his  hold  at  last,  and  she  drew  herself  away, 
and  walked  unsteadily  to  the  couch  by  the  fire,  brush- 
ing the  hair  from  her  face  with  a  trembling  hand; 
she  was  scarlet  and  shaking.  Horton  stood  and 
watched  her,  then  came  to  her  side,  standing  and 
looking  down  at  her,  his  face  grown  very  white.  "I 
deserve  anything  you  choose  to  say  to  me, ' '  he  said. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,"  she  replied,  trying  to 
speak  steadily.  "I  suppose  as  you  say  you  cannot 
help — but  I  have  too  much  anxiety  already,  and  you 
add  to  it;  you  make  me  still  more  unhappy.  .  .  . 
Please  go  and  stop  thinking  about  me — that  is  all 

T  ask — please  go!  I  will  try  to  forget  to-night " 

Her  voice  was  beyond  her  control. 

"I  asked  you  to  trust  me,"  he  said,  in  bitter  self- 
reproach,  "and  I  could  act  like  that!  You  will  think 
there  is  no  reverence  in  my  love. ' ' 

"I  don't  analyze  what  has  been  offered  me  under 
that  name,  not  you  alone,  but  others, ' '  Kate  said,  with 
the  first  touch  of  bitterness  that  he  had  ever  heard 
from  her.  She  looked  up  with  a  flash  of  the  white 

221 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

scorn  he  remembered  so  well,  but  at  the  utter 
wretchedness  of  his  aspect,  her  look  changed.  "I 
am  cruel,"  she  said,  more  gently,  "I  know  that  you 
have  tried — but  I  have  suffered  so " 

The  muscles  in  his  cheek  twitched.  "I  am  only 
human,"  he  said,  huskily. 

"I  know,  I  know."  She  rose  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  him.  "I  will  not  take  back  what  I  said  to 
you  the  other  evening — I  have  few  enough  who  care 
for  me,  and  I  need  every  friend  I  possess.  In  spite 
of  a  wild  moment  like  that,  I  feel  that  you  would  set 
aside  your  own  interests  if  it  would  help  me."  She 
smiled  faintly.  "I  never  quarrel  with  those  who 
really  love  me,"  she  added. 

Horton  flushed  warmly.  "You  know  how  to  for- 
give— royally,"  he  said,  his  eyes  grown  moist,  and 
he  bent  to  kiss  her  hand.  "I  would  rather  have  a 
kind  word  from  you,  Kate,  than  a  world  full  of  other 
people's  love."  He  straightened  his  shoulders,  and 
turned  for  his  hat,  then  stood  still,  his  face  working. 
"Neither  he  nor  any  one  else  can  take  that  bit  of 
heaven  away  from  me!"  he  added,  passionately. 


X. 

MRS.  SILENCE  MEDDLES 

MRS.  SILENCE  had  gone  for  the  third  time  to  the 
end  of  the  porch  that  commanded  a  view  of  the  wind- 
ing driveway  between  the  oaks,  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  the  horseman  for  whom  she  was  looking.  The 
heat  of  the  July  afternoon  shimmered  on  the  un- 
shaded stretch  of  road,  and  the  clusters  of  bluey- 
white  solanum  hung  listless,  half  withered  in  the  hot 
glare.  The  numerous  sprinklers  that  kept  the  green 
of  the  lawn  a  bright  tint  in  spite  of  the  heat,  whirled 
their  sprays  aloft,  each  drop  showing  every  color  of 
the  rainbow  before  it  descended  to  glisten  on  the 
grass. 

Mrs.  Silence's  eyes  were  as  unclouded  as  usual, 
but  there  was  a  rise  at  the  inner  corners  of  her  eye- 
brows that  formed  a  network  of  wrinkles  on  her  fore- 
head, changing  the  entire  expression  of  her  cheerful 
face.  Aunt  Silence  had  settled  the  Whites  to  her 
satisfaction,  and  given  her  house  a  vigorous  cleaning, 
but  she  had  come  back  to  Kate's  to  find  a  changed 
household.  She  had  said  little,  and  she  and  Hop  had 
consulted  over  the  refractory  ducks  and  sterile  hens 
as  usual,  but  they  had  also  consulted  over  other  mat- 
ters, and  the  result  of  Hop 's  information,  and  a  daily 

223 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

observation  of  Kate's  face  had  brought  that  troubled 
lift  to  Aunt  Silence's  brow. 

The  result  was  that  she  had  taken  a  decisive  step. 
She  had  written  a  short  letter  to  Horton  Payne,  ad- 
dressing it  to  his  ranch.  Evidently  he  had  been 
absent,  for  she  had  waited  three  days  before  she  re- 
ceived his  message.  It  was  brief — "I  am  starting  at 
once,"  he  said.  ""Will  reach  you  to-morrow  after- 
noon." 

A  horseman  had  turned  in  now  at  the  stone- 
pillared  gateway,  and  Mrs.  Silence  descended  the 
steps,  meeting  him  in  the  road.  He  had  dismounted, 
and  flung  his  horse's  bridle  over  the  hitching  post, 
turning  quickly  to  meet  her.  They  shook  hands,  and 
Aunt  Silence  said,  ' '  Come  to  the  seat  under  the  trees. 
It  is  cooler  there,  and  we  can  talk  better  there  than  in 
the  house." 

Horton  had  said  nothing,  but  as  he  followed  her  he 
lifted  his  hat  and  wiped  his  brow.  He  had  ridden 
rapidly,  and  a  good  part  of  the  road  was  unshaded. 
Hop  came  out  with  whiskey  and  ice,  but  Horton 
scarcely  touched  his  glass;  his  grave  eyes  were  on 
Aunt  Silence's  face.  "What  is  it,  Mrs.  Silence?" 
he  asked. 

"I  hardly  know,"  she  replied.  "That  is  what 
I  want  you  to  find  out."  Aunt  Silence's  nimble 
fingers  were  rarely  idle,  but  just  now  she  sat  very 
straight  in  her  chair,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap. 

224 


Mrs.  Silence  Meddles 

"I  am  afraid  my  letter  frightened  you,"  she  said, 
conscious  of  the  drawn  lines  about  his  mouth,  and  the 
anxiety  of  his  expression.  "I  tried  not  to  say  too 
much,  but  I  have  been  dreadfully  worried." 

"A  misfortune  to  Kate  is  a  misfortune  to  me,"  he 
answered,  simply. 

Aunt  Silence  nodded.  "I  know — you  love 
Kate." 

"I  have  loved  her  for  years,"  said  Horton. 

"I  generally  make  up  my  mind  about  people," 
Mrs.  Silence  said, ' '  and  I  like  you.  I  think  you  would 
help  Kate  in  a  difficulty — under  any  circumstances." 

''Certainly.  I  have  told  her  so,"  he  replied. 
"She  knows  it." 

"Yes,  I  think  she  does — I  am  certain  she  does. 
You  see  I  sent  for  you  and  then  I  was  in  a  panic. 
It  is  the  first  time  I  ever  meddled  in  Kate's  affairs. 
Last  night  I  had  your  message,  and  I  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer.  '  Kate, '  I  said, '  Horton  Payne  is  coming 
to-morrow.'  I  was  too  frightened  to  make  any  ex- 
planation. She  looked  at  me  as  if  she  hardly  heard 
me.  '  I  know, '  she  said.  '  I  wrote  to  him  to  come. '  ' ' 

"I  did  not  get  it,"  said  Horton,  quickly.  The 
sunburn  had  deepened  in  his  cheeks. 

"You  must  have  just  missed  it,"  Aunt  Silence 
said.  "Kate  is  lying  down  now,  until  dinner,  and  she 
wished  me  to  receive  you  and  ask  you  if  you  would 
come  back  later  in  the  evening  to  see  her.  I  don't 

15  225 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

know  why,  but  I  think  she  wanted  me  to  see  you  first 
and  talk  to  you." 

"Is  she  ill?"  Horton  asked,  anxiously. 

"I  think  she  is  almost  beside  herself  with  worry," 
said  Mrs.  Silence,  "but  over  just  what  I  don't  know. 
I  have  had  to  reach  conclusions  through  guess  work 
mostly,  only  this  I  do  know,  something  is  terribly 
wrong  with  Kate,  and  she  will  not  be  able  to  stand  it 
much  longer.  You  saw  her  before  she  went  away — 
she  has  always  been  like  that  ever  since  I  have  known 
her,  cheerful  and  eventempered.  Sometimes  she  was 
very  quiet,  and  sometimes  I  was  afraid  she  was  not 
very  happy,  but  that  was  all.  You  saw  the  change 
in  her  after  she  returned  from  Los  Angeles.  You  left 
then,  and  I  went  down  a  day  or  so  later  to  Los  An- 
geles. I  was  gone  almost  two  weeks,  and  just  before 
I  returned  I  received  a  short  letter  from  Kate.  It 
was  not  in  her  usual  manner — I  know  her  so  well  in 
some  ways.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she  was  laboring 
under  a  strain,  or  unusual  excitement  of  some  sort. 
She  said  that  for  years  she  had  wanted  the  kind  of 
interest  and  affection  that  a  child  would  bring  into  her 
life,  but  that  she  would  not  marry.  That  she  had 
given  a  great  deal  of  thought  to  the  subject,  and  that 
she  had  finally  determined  to  adopt  a  child.  She 
said  that  the  young  girl  she  had  determined  to 
adopt  was  of  good  family,  and  charming,  and  she 
felt  certain  that  when  I  knew  her,  I  would  extend 

226 


Mrs.  Silence  Meddles 

to  her  some  of  the  affection  I  had  always  shown  Kate 
herself."  Aunt  Silence's  voice  faltered  slightly. 
"Then  she  said  a  little  about  her  feeling  for  me, 
things  she  had  never  put  into  words  before,  though  I 
knew  she  felt  them — and  that  was  all.  An  earthquake 
couldn't  have  given  me  a  worse  shock.  I  thought  back 
over  our  acquaintance,  and  there  were  many  things 
that  went  to  show  the  truth  of  what  she  said.  Kate  is 
passionately  fond  of  children;  she  always  has  them 
about  her,  and  I  have  thought  a  hundred  times  when 
I  have  seen  her  with  them,  what  a  mother  she  would 
make.  That  was  what  I  meant  when  I  said  that  she 
was  a  woman  who  should  marry.  I  think  one  of  the 
strongest  things  in  Kate's  character  is  her  capacity 
for  maternal  tenderness.  I  am  certain  that  it  is  the 
secret  of  her  love  for  Richard  Allison.  He  has  always 
appealed  to  that  side  of  her  nature,  and  he  on  his 
part  admires  her  beyond  anything.  There  is  nothing 
I  have  ever  known  that  has  interested  me  more  than 
their  affection  for  each  other,  and  certainly  Richard 
has  proved  himself  a  persistent  and  determined  lover. 
I  am  telling  you  all  this  for  I  want  you  to  understand 
Kate  as  I  do. 

"There  is  another  thing:  I  discovered  some  time 
ago  how  Kate  spent  the  larger  part  of  her  income,  and 
it  gave  me  a  side  light  on  her  character.  She  lives 
most  simply  and  inexpensively  for  a  woman  of  her 
means,  but  she  seems  to  use  her  income  to  the  last 

227 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

penny.  It  was  quite  by  accident  that  I  found  that 
she  gave  regularly  and  almost  lavishly  to  a  number 
of  charitable  institutions,  all  of  them  for  children. 
There  is  one  home  for  crippled  and  homeless  children 
in  Los  Angeles  that  she  almost  entirely  supports.  She 
will  do  none  of  these  things  in  her  own  name,  and 
has  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  me,  intimately  as 
I  know  her.  It  is  one  of  the  reservations  of  which 
I  spoke  the  other  day.  I  had  realized  a  craving  in 
Kate  for  some  outlet  for  her  natural  tenderness,  but 
the  idea  of  her  taking  such  a  step  as  the  adoption 
of  a  child  had  never  occurred  to  me  for  an  instant. 

' '  I  came  back  here  in  a  very  mixed  state  of  mind, 
and  met  Kate's  new  daughter."  Aunt  Silence 
paused,  her  brows  lifting  into  their  troubled  expres- 
sion. "I  don't  know  why  I  expected  to  see  a  child, 
but  I  did,  and  I  had  another  surprise.  She  is  little 
and  slender,  but  it  is  a  young  woman  Kate  has 
adopted,  no  child.  She  is  as  quiet  and  inoffensive, 
as  anxious  to  please,  and  as  little  obtrusive  as  one 
could  wish,  but  she  is  as  marked  a  personality  in  her 
way  as  Kate  herself.  I  do  not  admire  her, ' '  said  Aunt 
Silence,  firmly,  "but  you  might  think  her  beautiful. 
She  makes  me  think  of  something  soft — and  danger- 
ous. She  tries  to  sit  like  other  people,  but  forgets 
and  curls  up  like  a  cat,  and  she  walks  as  lightly. 
She  is  particularly  attentive  to  me,  but  I  don't  like 
her."  Mrs.  Silence's  mouth  lifted  at  the  corner.  "I 
am  a  little  jealous,  and  consequently  prejudiced,  for 

228 


Mrs.  Silence  Meddles 

I  have  watched  Kate  with  her  new-found  treasure, 
and  anything  sweeter,  or  more  pathetic  than  Kate 
with  that  girl,  I  have  never  seen.  Not  even  an  enemy 
of  Kate's — if  she  has  such  a  thing — could  smile  at 
the  tenderness  and  thoughtful  attention  Kate  bestows 
on  her,  and  I  will  say  for  Paquita  that  she  tries  to 
receive  it — gratefully. ' ' 

"What  is  her  name?"  Horton  asked,  abruptly. 

Mrs.  Silence  sat  a  little  straighter.  "Now  you 
ask  me  a  question  that  will  explain  one  of  my  reasons 
for  wanting  to  see  you.  I  have  talked  a  little  to 
Kate's  adopted  daughter,  and  she  has  told  me  a  few 
things  about  herself.  She  says  that  she  is  a  connec- 
tion of  the  Paynes  of  Summit  Hill,  and  if  that  is  so, 
she  is  a  relation  of  your  own.  Her  name  is  Frances 
Payne,  and  she  says  that  the  Spanish  girls  at  The  Sis- 
ters' called  her  Paquita.  She  says  that  she  is  not 
Spanish,  though  she  has  always  lived  among  Spanish 
people." 

"What  else  did  she  tell  you?"  Horton  asked,  in  a 
voice  so  changed  that  Mrs.  Silence  looked  at  him 
curiously.  A  flush  of  excitement  had  risen  to  her 
cheeks. 

"Not  much,"  she  replied,  "except  that  her  parents 
had  practically  abandoned  her,  leaving  her  to  be 
cared  for  by  these  Spanish  people.  She  said  that 
she  had  been  educated  at  The  Sisters'  and  at  St. 
Mary's  in  San  Francisco.  She  told  me  all  this  be- 
cause I  questioned  her,  but  her  answers  were  per- 

229 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

fectly  straightforward.  If  she  has  been  among 
Spanish  people  all  her  life  I  can  understand  some  of 
her  ways."  Aunt  Silence  stopped,  and  Horton  sat 
silent,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

Her  manner  was  less  incisive  when  she  spoke 
again.  "I  haven't  told  you,"  she  said,  "that  I  knew 
your  father  and  your  step-father  slightly;  they  were 
out  here  a  good  deal  in  earlier  times.  I  know  the 
Payne  features  well.  You  are  very  like  your  father. 
This  girl  is  a  Payne — there  is  no  mistaking  those 
brows,  and  that  mouth." 

Horton  looked  up.     ' '  And  Kate  ? "  he  said. 

Aunt  Silence  sighed.  "Oh,  yes,  it  is  Kate  I  am 
thinking  of,  too.  Paquita  may  be  anybody  for  all  I 
care,  and  I  would  be  only  too  glad  to  feel  that  she 
was  the  source  of  happiness  to  Kate — I  would  even 
try  to  be  fond  of  Paquita  for  Kate's  sake,  but  this 
condition  of  things  is  unbearable.  Kate  looks  fear- 
fully." Aunt  Silence's  voice  faltered  again.  "I 
asked  her  the  other  day  to  please  tell  me  what 
was  the  matter,  but  she  was  short  with  me — the  first 
time  she  has  ever  spoken  so  to  me.  I  persevered, 
however,  and  begged  her  to  let  me  send  for  Richard 
Allison,  for  if  it  was  any  sort  of  money  difficulty  he 
could  straighten  it  out  for  her,  and  she  told  me  that 
he  was  the  last  person  she  wished  to  see.  Then  she 
tried  to  speak  as  usual,  and  said  she  was  simply  feel- 
ing nervous  and  ill.  I  couldn't  get  anything  else 
from  h«r."  Aunt  Silence  paused,  lowering  her  voice. 

230 


Mrs.  Silence  Meddles 

' '  I  did  write  to  him,  though  I  only  told  him  that  Kate 
was  not  well.  I  suppose  that  I  have  meddled  gener- 
ally, but  Richard  has  looked  after  Kate's  affairs  for 
a  long  time,  and  certainly  if  Kate  is  in  need  of  legal 
advice  for  any  reason,  he  is  competent  to  give  it." 

Horton  was  silent  again,  then  he  said,  "You  spoke 
of  more  than  one  reason  for  sending  for  me,  Mrs. 
Silence." 

Aunt  Silence  hesitated,  but  her  manner  gathered 
firmness  as  she  went  on.  "I  may  be  wrong,  but  I 
shall  tell  you  exactly  what  I  think.  I  have  concluded 
that  in  some  way  Kate  has  been  involved  in  difficulties 
because  of  this  girl,  and  it  is  a  member  of  your  family 
who  is  responsible  for  it.  I  have  only  this  from  which 
to  judge;  there  has  been  a  man  here  several  times, 
when  I  was  away,  and  after  I  came  back.  He  was 
here  the  other  day,  and  Kate  talked  to  him  the  better 
part  of  an  afternoon.  I  met  him  face  to  face  in  the 
driveway,  and  if  I  had  not  known  that  your  step- 
father died  more  than  ten  years  ago,  I  should  have 
said  that  it  was  he.  I  may  be  a  trouble-making  old 
woman,  but  after  I  had  seen  Kate 's  face  that  evening, 
and  she  told  me  nothing,  neither  she  nor  Paquita,  I 
wrote  to  you.  I  felt  sure  of  only  two  things — one  was 
that  family  matters  are  best  kept  in  the  family,  and 
the  other  was  that  I  would  trust  you  to  stand  by  Kate 
under  any  circumstances." 

Horton  met  Aunt  Silence's  clear  eyes  steadily. 
" Thank  you,"  he  said. 

231 


XI. 

THE  USES  OF  ADVERSITY 

"!T  is  better  here,  Kate,"  Horton  said.  "Let  me 
put  this  around  you,  for  when  the  sun  is  gone  it  will 
be  cooler,  and  your  dress  is  thin." 

"There  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  breath  from  the 
ocean,"  said  Kate.  "I  have  never  known  so  warm  an 
evening  here."  She  allowed  Horton  to  arrange  the 
shawl  on  the  bench,  and  when  she  was  seated,  he 
drew  the  two  ends  up  over  her  shoulders.  They  were 
very  near  the  water,  each  swell  of  the  incoming  tide 
leaving  a  line  of  foam  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  on  which 
they  sat.  It  was  a  large  flat  rock  lying  just  beneath 
the  bank,  at  full  tide  its  surface  barely  above  the 
water.  The  bank  behind  it  was  steep,  and  green  with 
its  mat  *of  yellow-flowering  mesembryanthemum. 
They  had  come  down  the  narrow  path,  and  Kate  had 
pointed  out  the  seat  to  him. 

"It  is  the  third  bench  I  have  had  put  there,"  she 
had  said.  ""When  there  is  a  storm,  it  washes  over  the 
rock  and  carries  the  seat  away — this  one  is  chained. ' ' 

Horton  had  made  the  bench  as  comfortable  as  he 
could  for  her,  and  he  sat  beside  her  now  waiting  until 
she  chose  to  speak.  He  had  come  back  as  Mrs.  Silence 
had  bidden  him,  and  Kate  had  said,  "Let  us  go  down 
to  the  beach — the  house  is  stifling." 

232 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

Horton  had  been  too  shocked  at  her  appearance  to 
make  any  reply.  From  what  Aunt  Silence  had  said 
he  had  expected  to  find  her  looking  ill,  but  he  was  not 
prepared  for  such  a  change.  She  was  deadly  pale, 
the  pallor  of  suffering,  her  always  sombre  eyes,  dark- 
ringed  and  heavy.  Her  cheek  had  lost  its  curve,  and 
there  were  tense  lines  about  her  mouth.  She  spoke 
and  moved  more  deliberately  than  usual,  but  it  was 
with  the  air  of  one  quite  unconscious  of  her  surround- 
ings. Horton  felt  a  choking  sensation  of  pain  as  he 
looked  at  her.  He  had  spent  a  wretched  enough 
three  weeks  since  he  had  last  seen  Kate,  and  Mrs. 
Silence's  summons  had  thrown  him  into  a  torment 
of  anxiety,  which  the  conversation  of  the  earlier  after- 
noon had  only  served  to  increase.  He  had  not  ques- 
tioned Mrs.  Silence,  it  would  be  Kate's  place  to  ex- 
plain, but  an  intense  anger  had  been  steadily  growing 
in  him.  He  nervously  clenched  and  unclenched  his 
hand,  and  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  speak  calmly. 

"This  hot  wind  comes  from  over  the  mountains," 
he  said.  "It  has  the  desert  smell — like  sand  in  the 
sun." 

She  did  not  appear  to  hear  him ;  her  eyes  were  on 
the  swell  and  heave  of  the  water.  In  the  distance 
a  coast  steamer  was  outlined  against  the  blue  of  the 
horizon,  and  in  the  foreground  two  tiny  sail-boats 
scudded  along,  their  bits  of  canvas  pink  tinted  in  the 
level  rays  of  the  sinking  sun.  The  shadow  of  the 

233 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

bank  behind  them  touched  them  where  they  sat,  and 
the  rush  of  water  subdued  every  sound.  Kate  was 
watching  a  piece  of  bark  that  the  waves  rolled  up  on 
the  sand  and  left,  coming  back  to  seize  it  again  and 
drag  it  far  out  on  the  water.  "You  did  not  receive 
my  letter,"  she  said,  finally. 

"No,  Mrs.  Silence  wrote  also — hers  came  first." 

"It  was  all  the  same,"  she  said,  dully.  "I  only 
asked  you  to  come — that  was  all.  I  couldn't  write 
what  I  had  to  say,  and  it  had  reached  a  point  where 
I  had  to  call  upon  you — it  seemed  to  me  that  you 
were  the  only  help  I  had  left." 

"Kate,  you  drive  me  beside  myself!"  Horton  ex- 
claimed. "Mrs.  Silence  told  me  a  little,  and  I  have 
been  left  to  guess  the  rest — for  pity's  sake  tell  me 
what  it  is  in  the  fewest  words." 

Kate  straightened  a  little,  turning  to  look  up  at 
him.  "Aunt  Silence  told  you  of  Paquita?"  she  said. 

"Yes." 

"She  is  my  daughter." 

"Yes — you  have  adopted  her — Mrs.  Silence  told 
me." 

"But  she  is  my  daughter — my  own  daughter " 

she  paused. 

"You  mean ?"    Horton  grew  white. 

"You  must  have  guessed — she  is  my  daughter, 
and  your  cousin  James  is  her  father.  He  took  her 
away  from  me  when  she  was  a  baby." 

234 


ANYTHING    BUT    THAT!"      III.    s\ll) 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

Horton  drew  his  arm  from  the  back  of  the  seat 
where  it  rested  and  rose  abruptly,  standing  and  look- 
ing down  at  her ;  his  voice  was  very  quiet.  ' '  James  is 
your  husband  then — or  was?  ...  It  would  explain 
a  good  deal." 

Her  face  twitched,  and  she  moistened  her  lips, 
but  she  looked  up  at  him  steadily.  "No,"  she  said, 
"but  I  was  not  to  blame." 

A  wild  look  crossed  his  face,  lifting  his  brows. 
Then  his  jaw  set,  his  brows  lowering  into  their 
straight  line.  "Anything  but  that,"  he  said  through 
his  teeth,  and  so  low  that  Kate  hardly  caught  it. 
"Anything  but  that!" 

"I  was  not  to  blame,"  she  repeated.  "I  did  not 
know "  Horton  interrupted  her  with  a  mut- 
tered exclamation,  and  turning  his  back  walked  to 
the  edge  of  the  rock,  and  stood  looking  out  over  the 
water.  The  blood  had  surged  into  his  face.  "I  have 
thought  of  everything  else,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but 
not  that — never  that — I  would  not  think  it." 

Kate  bent  forward  a  little,  watching  him,  her  tired 
eyes  anxious,  the  lines  in  her  forehead  more  marked. 
There  was  a  faint  look  of  wonder  in  her  expression 
as  she  observed  his  attitude.  When  he  turned  again 
to  her  she  studied  his  face  thoughtfully,  but  it  was 
without  expression.  "I  did  not  mean  to  interrupt," 
he  said,  evenly.  "You  startled  me — just  for  the 
moment.  I  know  you  were  not  to  blame — certainly 

235 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

you  were  not — only  it  startled  me.  You  see  1 
wouldn't  be  a  sane,  thinking  human  being  if  I  had 
not  tried  to  explain  to  my  mind  some  things  that — 
that — were  mysterious  about  you,  but  my  explanations 
were  never  anything  like  this — but  it  does  not  change 
my  opinion  of  you — there  is  nothing  wilb4°  that, 
Kate."  The  set  muscles  of  his  face  began  to  twitch 
in  spite  of  hfo  effort. 

As  he  spoke  the  puzzled  look  faded  from  Kate's 
face,  and  at  the  emphasis  of  his  last  sentence  she 
flushed  a  painful  scarlet.  She  spoke  quickly  and 
clearly.  "When  I  married  your  cousin  he  was 
already  married — he  never  tolcl  me — afterwards  I 
found  his  wife  was  living.  If  you  had  let  me 
finish " 

"Kate!"  said  Horton,  in  smothered  tones.  "How 
could  I ! "  He  had  come  back  to  her,  his  breath  com- 
ing and  going  unevenly.  "I  have  been  so  wild  with 
anxiety — and  so  in  the  dark — "  he  said,  huskily.  "It 
is  the  first  time  I  have  let  a  doubt  of  you  come  in 
my  mind.  ...  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 

you "  He  was  beside  her  again,  and  as  Kate 

looked  down  at  the  trembling  hand  that  pressed  his 
knee,  her  face  softened  into  an  expression  of  tender- 
ness. She  leaned  over  and  touched  it  gently. 
"Don't,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "You  have 
given  me  years  of  loyalty — that  is  why  I  have  called 

236 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

on  you  now.    What  does  the  doubt  of  a  moment  mat- 
ter.    I  should  have  begun  differently." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  held  it,  but  his  look  had 
changed.  "He  shall  answer  for  it — I  swear  he  shall," 
he  said.  His  voice  rose.  "He  never  did  a  straight 
thing  in  his  life — he  was  born  crooked;  but  he  has 
reached  his  limit  now!"  The  anger  that  the  shock 
of  a  moment  had  driven  out  of  his  mind  was  return- 
ing. "When  Mrs.  Silence  talked  to  me  this  after- 
noon, I  knew  that  his  hand  was  in  this  business,  but 
I  never  suspected  such  a  thing  as  this — yet  in  an  in- 
stant a  thousand  things  are  explained."  He  was 
breathing  quickly.  "You  are  going  to  tell  me  more, 
Kate — I  can  act  better  then.  It  shall  be  the  last  bit 
of  villainy  he  will  undertake " 

"But  do  you  mean  you  can  make  him  leave  me 
alone,  me  and  my  child,  and  not  drag  things  out  for 
people  to  gloat  over?"  She  sat  up,  her  eyes  grown 
brilliant,  her  lips  quivering.  She  drew  her  hand 
from  his  and  clasped  the  other  that  lay  in  her  lap. 
"He — ho  is  terrible — no,  you  don't  know.  ...  If 
you  could  do  that  for  me — !"  she  ended  in  a  sob, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"I  can — damn  him!"  Horton  said.    "Kate  you 

poor  child "    He  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders 

and  drew  her  to  him,  for  she  was  sobbing  aloud. 

"Oh,  to  think  of  that — after  these  weeks!  .  .  . 
You  don't  know,  you  don't  know!" 

237 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"I  think  I  do  know,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"Don't  worry  any  more,  dearest.  You  should  have 
told  me  fifteen  years  ago — what  do  you  think  it  would 
have  mattered  to  me— a  thing  like  that.  Kate,  why 
did  you  hide  yourself  away,  and  put  happiness  out 
of  your  life?  Fifteen  years  in  which  to  love  you! 
There  was  no  one  between  us  then — but  now — • — " 

She  dropped  her  hands,  looking  up  into  his  face. 
"I  was  like  a  stray  dog,"  she  said.  "A  dog  that 
has  been  beaten  all  over  and  kicked.  I  had  no  name, 
no  home,  nothing.  I  was  ruined  and  cast  out  to  do 
for  myself.  I  shrank  from  every  look  that  was  given 
me;  from  every  hand  that  was  stretched  out  to  me. 
I  didn't  know  anything  better  than  to  hide." 

Horton  uttered  a  passionate  word,  and  Kate  drew 
herself  up,  brushing  the  hair  back  from  her  forehead 
with  an  impatient  gesture.  ' '  It  was  because  I  was  all 
alone  when  I  was  a  girl,"  she  said.  "You  can't  un- 
derstand unless  you  know.  There  was  no  one  to  give 
me  advice,  and  I  was  so  terribly  lonely.  ...  I  had 
lost  my  father  and  mother  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
I  don't  remember  my  father  at  all,  and  my  mother 
just  dimly.  She  was  studying  art  in  Paris  when  she 
met  my  father,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  secret  mar- 
riage. He  was  an  Englishman  of  very  good  family, 
and  when  his  people  discovered  his  marriage  there 
was  dreadful  trouble.  My  life  began  all  wrong  from 
the  beginning.  My  mother  was  an  American  and 

238 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

poor,  and  they  refused  to  countenance  her.  I  think 
my  father  was  loyal  to  her,  but  there  was  trouble 
between  them  after  a  time.  There  was  a  separation 
then  and  my  mother  kept  me  with  her.  My  father 
died  in  England,  and  my  mother  a  little  over  a  year 
later  in  Paris.  I  remember  her  face  and  the  room  in 
which  she  was  ill — that  is  all  I  remember.  My 
father's  people  did  not  want  me  in  England.  They 
sent  over  a  governess  for  me,  and  it  was  with  her 
that  I  travelled  to  different  places.  We  were  a  long 
time  in  Eisenach " 

"It  was  there  I  went  to  trace  you,"  said  Horton. 
"As  I  told  you  I  went  to  Herr  Tupfer's.  Frau  Tup- 
fer  was  dead,  but  Herr  Tupfer  remembered  you,  but 
not  your  name.  He  remembered  the  name  of  your 
governess,  Miss  "Wheedon.  I  found  it  in  a  hotel 
register  in  Dresden  also,  but  yours  was  not  given. 
It  was  all  I  could  find,  and  I  searched  carefully." 

Kate  continued  without  noticing  his  interruption. 
Her  manner  was  eager,  as  if  to  speak  afforded  her  re- 
lief. ' '  Miss  Wheedon  was  kind  to  me, ' '  she  said, ' '  but 
she  must  have  been  acting  under  instructions,  for  she 
told  me  almost  nothing  of  my  father's  people.  When 
I  was  fourteen  she  told  me  that  it  was  the  wish  of 
those  who  had  provided  for  me  that  I  should  finish 
my  education  in  America,  and  live  there,  and  I  was 
sent  over  to  New  York;  Miss  Wheedon  did  not 

239 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

go  with  me.  I  was  sent  to  a  girl 's  school  in  Philadel- 
phia, and  I  remained  there  for  two  years. 

"It  was  an  entirely  different  life  from  any  I  had 
had  before ;  with  Miss  Wheedon  I  had  travelled  about, 
and  I  loved  the  interesting  places  we  visited,  the  pic- 
tures, and  the  music.  I  did  not  like  the  teachers  in 
the  school,  and  did  not  feel  at  home  with  the  girls. 
It  was  just  that  I  was  not  used  to  the  American  atmos- 
phere, and  that  I  realized  I  had  no  home  and  no  one 
at  all  to  care  for  me.  "When  the  girls  went  home  in 
the  holidays,  I  stayed  at  the  school,  except  for  a  short 
visit  or  two  with  some  one  of  the  girls.  It  was 
dreary." 

"Did  the  teachers  know  nothing  about  your  fam- 
ily?" Horton  asked. 

"Very  little,"  said  Kate.  "Only  what  I  knew 
myself.  My  tuition  was  paid  through  a  Philadelphia 
bank,  and  I  had  a  moderate  allowance  for  my  own 
use.  The  head  teacher  had  received  a  letter  of  in- 
structions through  the  bank  stating  that  I  was  an 
orphan  and  that  I  should  remain  with  her  until  I 
was  eighteen,  and  after  that  I  should  be  sent  to  some 
college  and  be  fitted  for  a  teacher.  I  learned  from 
the  bank  that  when  I  reached  the  age  of  eighteen,  if 
I  were  unmarried,  I  should  have  a  sum  of  money  paid 
to  me,  and  that  would  end  my  connection  with  my 
English  relatives.  In  case  I  married  in  the  mean- 
time, I  was  to  receive  the  money  at  once.  It  was 

24Q 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

something  like  putting  a  price  on  my  head."  Kate 
had  regained  much  of  her  usual  calmness  of  manner, 
but  a  spot  of  color  began  to  burn  in  her  cheeks,  and 
Horton  looked  at  her  pityingly.  "During  my  last 
summer  at  the  school,  I  met  your  step-brother ;  James 
Selwyn  he  called  himself,  and  I  never  knew  that  he 
had  deceived  me  about  his  name  as  he  did  about 
everything  else,  until  the  other  afternoon  when  you 
told  me  the  history  of  your  family.  I  understood 
then  the  strong  resemblance  between  you.  I  felt 
when  I  first  met  you  that  there  must  be  some  rela- 
tionship, and  I  was  eager  to  avoid  you,  but  you  ex- 
plained it  fully  that  afternoon."  Kate  stopped,  shiv- 
ering and  drawing  the  shawl  closer  about  her  neck. 
"He  found  it  easy  to  make  me  love  him,"  she  said. 
"Nobody  had  even  pretended  to  love  me  before.  I 
was  hungry  for  affection.  The  school  was  empty,  the 
head  teacher  at  the  seashore,  no  one  paid  any  par- 
ticular attention  to  me;  he  had  a  free  field.  A  more 
experienced  girl  than  I  might  have  been  persuaded. 
He  told  me  he  was  without  relations,  much  like  myself, 
and  that  he  was  comfortably  well  off.  He  persuaded 
me  to  be  married  to  him  before  the  school  opened, 
and  simply  to  write  to  the  head  teacher  and  notify 
her  of  the  fact.  He  had  found  out  all  about  the 
money  that  was  coming  to  me  at  the  bank."  Kate's 
quivering  lip  lifted.  "I  was  just  sixteen,  our  mar- 
riage was  fully  vouched  for,  my  eight  thousand  dol- 
16  241 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

lars — for  that  was  all  there  was — was  paid  over  to 
me,  and  he  took  me  away  from  even  the  one  or  two 
people  who  knew  me. 

"He  took  me  to  New  Orleans  and  I  was  happy 
for  a  time.  Then  I  began  to  find  out  things,  one 
thing  after  another.  I  think  a  sudden  disillusion  is 
better  than  that  kind  of  protracted  agony.  1  found 
first  of  all  that  I  was  a  sort  of  incident  to  my  husband 
— he  had  my  money — he  spent  it  as  he  liked.  He  was 
never  rough  with  me — I  simply  didn't  count  at  all. 
I  was  just  a  young  girl,  and  the  sort  of  women  he 
cared  for  were  those  who  were  as  sharp  and  experi- 
enced as  he.  When  I  became  too  wretched  to  conceal 
it  he  sometimes  made  love  to  me.  You  said  of  his 
father,  'he  caressed  her  with  one  hand  while  he  stole 
with  the  other, ' — it  was  like  that  with  him.  All  these 
things  came  first.  In  the  beginning  he  kept  me  away 
from  the  people  who  were  his  companions,  but  in  time 
he  became  careless,  and  when  I  could  overcome  my 
wretchedness  over  his  neglect  enough  to  pay  some  at- 
tention to  those  around  me,  I  was  dazed  by  the  kind 
of  people  who  seemed  to  be  his  friends.  He  was 
always  promoting  some  scheme,  but  nothing  legiti- 
mate. The  men  who  came  to  his  rooms  frightened 
me,  and  the  women  made  me  ill.  I  had  never  known 
such  people;  I  did  not  know  they  existed.  Toward 
the  end,  he  even  brought  such  men  as  that  creature 
on  the  train;  he  brought  that  very  man.  I  cannot 

242 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

tell  you  all  the  schemes  I  overheard  discussed,  and 
some  of  the  things  that  I  knew  were  going  on.  I  was 
almost  out  of  my  mind  with  misery  and  terror,  for  it 
had  taken  me  the  better  part  of  a  year  to  discover 
the  truth — that  I  had  married  a  thoroughly  bad  man, 
a  man  of  the  underworld,  a  human  bird  of  prey. 
Those  men  do  exist ;  they  seem  to  be  born  to  fill  their 
place  in  the  world.  James  had  beauty,  and  charm 
of  manner,  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  had  the 
ancestry  of  a  gentleman.  He  is  just  the  rotten 
branch  of  a  good  tree.  There  is  something  strange 
in  his  cast  of  mind,  something  subtle  and  cruel,  like 
a  creature  unbalanced,  and  at  the  same  time  he  is 
so  highly  reasonable — I  cannot  express  it.  His  brain 
evolves  scheme  after  scheme,  but  they  all  bear  the 
same  stamp. 

"When  my  inexperience  had  grasped  all  this  I 
had  terrible  things  to  consider.  He  no  longer  made 
any  pretence  of  devotion  to  me;  he  knew  I  under- 
stood, and  he  left  me  alone  and  waited  to  see  what 
I  would  do."  Kate  stopped,  and  then  went  on  with 
great  difficulty  and  Horton  looked  down  on  the  rock 
at  his  feet,  his  face  very  white.  "Whatever  he  might 
be,  he  was  the  father  of  my  child,"  said  Kate  in  a 
voice  so  low  that  Horton  scarcely  caught  it,  "and  I 
was  utterly  helpless,  without  money,  and  nowhere 
to  go.  My  baby  would  come  very  soon — I  had  to 
think.  ...  I  wanted  just  a  little  of  my  money  so 

243 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

that  I  could  leave  him,  and  when  I  was  able,  find 
something  to  do  for  myself  and  the  child.  I  tried 
not  to  anger  James,  I  only  said  that  I  knew  he  would 
be  better  satisfied  if  he  did  not  have  to  bother  about 
me,  and  if  he  would  give  me  a  little  money  I  would  go, 
and  take  care  of  myself  after  that — his  manner  had 
become  so  casual  to  me  that  I  could  think  of  no  better 
way  to  approach  him.  To  my  surprise  and  relief 
he  thought  a  minute,  then  laughed,  and  said  he  had 
no  objection — he  would  see  about  the  money  in  a 
day  or  two.  Then  he  carefully  avoided  me  for  days, 
and  I  realized  that  he  had  no  intention  of  allowing 
me  to  leave  him,  that  for  some  reason  he  meant  to 
keep  me  in  his  grasp,  under  his  eye,  though  otherwise 
leaving  me  alone.  What  plan  or  scheme  he  was 
harboring  now  I  could  not  fathom,  but  I  had  endured 
too  much ;  he  entered  my  presence  one  day  and  I  went 
wild — I  was  really  beside  myself.  I  told  him  that  I 
would  go  that  day  before  the  authorities  and  tell  them 
all  I  knew  of  his  lottery  schemes,  and  other  things 
that  the  police  would  like  to  hear.  I  told  him  in  the 
strongest  language  I  knew  how  I  felt  to  him,  my  con- 
tempt, my  loathing,  and  my  disgust,  the  creature  he 
was  in  the  eyes  of  any  decent  human  being.  He  stood 
and  took  it  all  quietly,  just  his  brows  drawn  down,  and 
his  mouth  smiling.  When  I  stopped  he  asked  me 
very  quietly  if  there  was  anything  more  ?  If  not,  he 
had  a  word  to  say,  and  it  was  this :  that  he  was  about 

244 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

done  with  New  Orleans,  and  ready  to  leave.  That 
I  would  have  some  difficulty  in  substantiating  my 
statements  after  I  had  made  them,  and  that  the 
authorities  I  talked  of  so  glibly  would  have  a  still 
greater  difficulty  in  finding  him  in  the  unlikely  case 
of  their  wanting  him.  That  if  I  wished  to  consult 
the  police,  he  would  give  me  a  few  facts  that  really 
concerned  me,  and  that  perhaps  would  be  worth  while. 
I  might  tell  them,  he  said,  that  I  was  not  his  wife,  for 
that  was  a  fact.  That  he  had  been  quite  innocent 
of  any  intention  of  breaking  the  laws  of  his  country, 
he  had  thought  his  first  wife  dead  when  he  married 
me,  but  he  had  since  learned  that  he  was  mistaken. 
He  declared  that  he  had  had  this  knowledge  only  a 
short  time.  He  very  deliberately  showed  me  the 
proofs  of  his  marriage,  and  letters  from  his  wife.  He 
spoke  feelingly  of  his  distress  on  my  account.  He 
asked  me  what  I  wished  him  to  do.  He  remarked  that 
he  considered  it  no  time  for  me  to  be  exciting  myself 
over  matters  that  did  not  concern  me,  that  I  had  a 
great  enough  grievance  of  my  own.  He  supposed 
that  his  advice  would  have  no  weight  with  me,  but 
he  would  like  to  suggest  that  I  allow  him  to  see  that 
I  was  well  cared  for  during  the  next  few  weeks,  and 
that  for  the  sake  of  our  child  I  would  not  make  our 
misfortune  a  piece  of  public  property.  That  when 
I  was  well  again  I  would  be  far  better  able  to  judge 
what  step  would  be  best  to  take,  and  where  it  would 

245 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

be  well  for  me  and  the  child  to  go.  When  that  time 
came  he  declared  he  had  no  wish  to  oppose  any  plan 
of  mine  that  was  for  the  benefit  of  our  child,  for  it  was 
his  as  well  as  mine  he  reminded  me,  and  if  I  should 
persist  in  any  such  foolish  thing  as  running  off  with 
inadequate  means,  and  no  sensible  plans  for  the  trial 
that  awaited  me,  he  most  certainly  would  follow  me. 
' '  He  had  turned  me  to  stone.  I  could  say  nothing. 
I  believed  him  absolutely  regarding  his  first  marriage, 
except  that  I  was  certain  he  was  aware  of  all  the 
facts  before  he  married  me;  he  had  needed  eight 
thousand  dollars  badly — that  was  all.  It  is  not  an 
unusual  method  of  procuring  money;  the  papers  al- 
most daily  give  us  disagreeable  details,  only  they  so 
rarely  apply  to  ourselves.  .  .  .  "When  he  was  ready 
he  had  told  me  of  it.  He  knew  me  well  enough  to  be 
certain  that  I  would  not  publish  my  shame,  even  if 
I  doubted  the  positive  statement  of  his  guiltlessness. 
I  thought  at  that  time  that  he  feared  to  let  me  go 
until  he  was  ready  to  disappear.  His  lottery  scheme, 
or  some  other  was  not  ripe  yet,  and  he  wanted  no 
possible  interference  with  his  plans.  When  he  was 
ready  he  would  go  and  leave  me  behind ;  he  would  be 
quietly  and  effectually  rid  of  me — and  the  child.  The 
whole  thing  was  so  like  him,  such  a  combination  of 
shrewdness  and  revenge,  with  an  opportunity  for  fine 
acting  on  his  part,  that  I  recognized  his  generalship. 
I  sat  dumb  before  him.  I  was  not  thinking  just  then 

246 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

of  him,  or  myself,  I  was  thinking  of  my  child.  After- 
wards it  all  seemed  clear  to  me,  what  was  his  object, 
and  his  intention,  and  I  did  what  appeared  wisest  to 
me  at  the  time. 

"He  finished  talking  and  I  managed  to  reach  my 
room  and  shut  myself  in.  I  lay  down  on  my  bed  and 
I  stayed  there  for  hours,  just  lying  still.  If  I  had 
been  a  woman  who  wept  and  screamed  easily,  I  should 
have  beaten  my  head  against  the  wall.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  one  great  thought  that  was  growing  in 
me,  I  should  have  gone  insane."  Kate's  voice  had 
dropped  even  lower.  ""When  I  lay  down  the  sun  was 
warm  on  the  bed,  and  when  I  began  to  plan  as  well  as 
suffer,  it  was  dark,  and  the  stars  in  the  sky.  I  could 
see  them  from  where  I  lay.  For  weeks  I  had  been  wild 
with  anxiety  and  terror  for  what  was  before  me,  but 
now  I  was  perfectly  calm.  I  myself  had  passed  out 
of  existence — it  had  gone  with  my  girlhood,  with  a 
thousand  things  that  had  meant  so  much.  There  was 
an  immense  strength  growing  in  me — I  cannot  tell  it 
to  you — no  man  would  know — if  you  look  for  it  you 
will  see  it  in  the  face  of  the  Madonna — I  think  it 
was  that."  Her  eyes  had  widened  and  deepened, 
her  voice  sweet  in  its  modulation;  the  present  had 
vanished;  she  was  back  again,  passing  through  her 
hour  of  trial.  "I  don't  know  what  is  the  strength 
that  is  given  to  women  who  are  beset  by  terrible 
anxieties,  and  have  a  life  to  guard,  but  I  know  it 

247 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

was  given  to  me.  There  was  a  tremendous  peace  rest- 
ing on  me,  and  everything  but  that  one  great  fact 
faded  away.  For  what  was  to  be  mine,  I  could  face 
the  whole  world  of  suffering  and  sin  and  not  be  afraid. 
I  would  find  a  way  out  in  the  end."  Her  eyes  had 
gone  to  the  wide  expanse  of  water,  and  she  dropped 
into  silence.  The  man  beside  her  breathed  gently 
lest  he  disturb  her.  She  had  drawn  back  an  edge  of 
the  curtain  that  hid  her  soul  and  allowed  him  to  look 
in.  She  was  far  away  from  any  realization  of  the 
present,  moving  with  the  shadows  of  past  thoughts. 
The  sensitive  cord,  the  capacity  to  understand, 
vibrated  in  him.  There  was  a  tightening  in  his  throat, 
and  a  pricking  pain  in  his  eyelids.  A  quiver  crossed 
Kate's  face,  and  her  look  came  back  to  the  rock  on 
which  they  sat,  and  then  to  Horton  motionless  beside 
her,  and  she  sighed. 

' '  I  went  on  with  my  life  as  if  I  had  not  had  cause 
for  that  night  of  suffering.  We  had  a  part  of  a  house 
that  was  kept  by  a  Creole  woman,  and  there  were 
other  lodgers,  but  I  could  keep  by  myself.  I  almost 
never  saw  James  and  we  never  referred  to  that  after- 
noon. I  had  acceded  to  his  plan,  it  seemed  best, 
but  I  had  made  up  my  mind  about  the  future.  I 
saved  every  penny  of  money  that  I  could,  and  I  sold 
what  little  jewelry  I  had,  to  add  to  my  little  store. 
The  Creole  woman  was  kind  to  me.  I  think  that  no 
woman  who  had  a  particle  of  womanhood  in  her  could 

248 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

have  helped  being  so.  She  thought  either  that  my 
husband  neglected  me  shamefully,  or  that  I  was  in 
the  questionable  position  of  more  than  one  woman 
who  had  lived  in  her  house.  I  know  she  pitied  me, 
but  I  had  no  explanation  to  make  to  her.  I  simply 
kept  silence.  She  promised  to  look  after  me  when  I 
was  ill,  and  I  think  she  did  so  to  the  best  of  her  ability. 
I  was  very  ill,  I  almost  died,  but  I  knew  my  baby  was 
living,  for  they  put  her  in  my  arms  just  for  a  little 
while."  Kate  paused,  her  eyes  slowly  filling.  "That 
moment  was  worth  to  me  all  that  I  had  endured.  I 
think  I  was  born  that  I  might  have  that  few  moments ' 
happiness.  It  will  stay  with  me  as  long  as  I  live." 
She  stopped  again,  trying  to  control  her  voice,  then 
went  on  more  rapidly. 

"I  was  ill  a  long  time,  I  had  fever  and  was  un- 
conscious, and  they  took  me  to  the  hospital.  At  first 
when  I  was  well  enough  to  ask  they  would  not  tell 
me,  but  they  were  forced  to  finally.  They  said  that 
my  child  had  only  lived  a  short  time,  that  she  had 
died  just  after  they  had  brought  me  to  the  hospital. 
I  was  ill  for  weeks  after  that — I  don't  know  why  I 
lived  at  all,  but  I  did,  and  at  last  I  was  at  liberty 
to  go.  He  had  never  come  to  the  hospital,  and  the 
nurses  asked  me  very  few  questions.  He  had  sent 
them  enough  for  my  expenses  and  I  let  them  think 
what  they  wished.  I  only  wanted  to  get  away  and  hide 
myself,  and  I  was  in  an  agony  of  terror  lest  he  should, 

249 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

for  some  reason  of  his  own,  follow  me  up.  All  my 
courage  seemed  to  have  died  with  my  child.  I  had 
put  the  little  money  I  had  saved  in  a  bank  and  I 
almost  fainted  with  fear  when  I  went  to  get  it.  The 
one  thing  I  wanted  was  to  get  away  as  far  as  I  could 
from  his  neighborhood.  I  knew  in  an  indefinite  way 
that  my  mother  had  had  a  brother  somewhere  in 
California.  They  had  quarrelled,  and  all  I  knew 
of  him  was  through  some  old  letters  of  his  to  her. 
His  address  at  that  time  was  a  certain  bank  in  St. 
Louis,  and  I  still  hoped  to  learn  something  of  him 
from  them.  When  the  anxieties  of  the  last  months 
had  forced  me  to  think  of  any  means  of  helping 
myself,  I  had  written  to  them,  but  no  answer  had 
reached  me.  The  hope  of  hearing  from  them  was  one 
of  the  possibilities  to  which  I  had  clung  up  to  the  very 
last.  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  going  to  any 
one  who  had  known  me,  for  I  regarded  myself  as  an 
outcast,  and  the  necessity  of  telling  my  story  would 
be  an  agony.  If  I  could  go  where  I  was  not  known 
it  would  be  better,  and  there  would  be  less  chance 
of  his  finding  me  in  the  future.  I  do  not  know  why 
I  felt  so  certain  that  he  would  not  wish  to  lose  sight 
of  me,  but  the  fear  obsessed  me.  If  I  found  my  uncle 
possibly  he  would  protect  me ;  if  he  were  kind  to  me 
I  felt  I  could  tell  him  everything. 

"  After  I  drew  out  my  little  sum  of  money,  I  went 
directly  to  the  station,  and  took  the  first  train  for  St. 

250 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

Louis.  I  did  not  stop  trembling  for  hours ;  I  was  like 
a  hunted  thing,  afraid  of  my  own  shadow.  I  arrived 
in  St.  Louis  at  noon  and  found  the  bank,  and  the 
first  ray  of  hope  I  had  was  when  they  said  that  my 
uncle  was  living,  and  though  they  had  no  exact  ad- 
dress they  thought  he  might  be  found  here,  in  Moneta. 
That  he  was  an  invalid,  and  his  movements  uncertain. 
It  was  all  too  indefinite  for  me  to  risk  writing,  and  I 
had  fear  pushing  me  on  also.  I  counted  my  money 
carefully;  I  had  enough  to  pay  for  the  journey  and 
to  keep  me  for  a  short  time,  and  I  determined  to  take 
the  risk.  I  was  not  afraid  of  work  if  my  search  were 
not  successful.  I  bought  a  few  things  and  I  almost 
missed  my  train.  It  was  you  who  gave  me  your 
berth,  and  the  sight  of  you  frightened  me  terribly — 
for  one  instant  I  thought  it  was  James,  and  then  I 
thought  there  must  be  a  relationship,  the  resemblance 
was  so  strong.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  that  man.  He 
came  to  his  seat  not  ten  minutes  afterwards,  and  I 
was  sick  with  terror.  I  had  only  stepped  into  other 
difficulties.  He  was  determined  to  question  me  about 
James,  who  had  'cleared'  from  New  Orleans,  he  said, 
and  left  the  others  in  the  lurch.  He  threatened  to 
follow  me  until  I  should  tell  him  everything  I  knew 
about  James.  I  am  certain  that  it  was  he  who  stole 
some  of  my  money.  I  was  too  frightened  to  know 
what  I  was  doing,  and  I  left  most  of  it  in  my  bag,  and 
the  next  morning  it  was  gone.  I  can  never  tell  you 

251 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

what  gratitude  I  felt  to  you  when  you  kept  that  brute 
from  me.  With  James's  face  I  felt  you  must  be  like 
him,  but  I  thought  so  only  a  very  short  time.  If  it 
had  not  been  that  you  reminded  me  of  him  constantly, 
the  way  you  spoke,  the  way  you  held  your  head,  when 
you  frowned,  a  hundred  things,  and  also  that  I  began 
to  feel  that  you — that  it  was  not — just  that  you  were 
sorry  for  me,  but  that  you — that  you  cared—  ''  Kate 
flushed,  hesitating,  "I  should  have  acted  differently 
to  you." 

Horton  spoke  with  difficulty.  "And  it  was  James 
I  ran  up  against  in  the  hotel  corridor  that  night,  and 
it  was  the  sight  of  him  that  drove  you  out  into  the 

rain "  He  was  shaking  in  his  strong  endeavor 

to  keep  control  of  himself. 

"I  think  now,"  said  Kate,  "that  he  had  no  more 
idea  that  I  was  in  the  same  city  with  him  than  I  had 
that  he  was  there,  but  I  did  not  stop  to  consider  about 
anything.  I  saw  that  you  knew  him,  my  first  impres- 
sion that  you  two  were  connected  was  right,  James 
had  not  seen  me,  and  my  one  desire  was  to  flee.  I 
never  should  have  had  courage  to  write  to  you,  except 
that  I  could  not  endure  it — to  treat  you  so  after  your 
kindness,  and  after  you  had  shown  me  that — that  you 
believed  in  me " 

"Believed  in  you!"  Horton  burst  out  at  last. 
' '  Kate ! — I  cannot  talk  to  you  of  what  you  have  told 
me! — That  hound!  The  damned  scoundrel — for  he 

252 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

has  been  that  all  his  life — a  Payne,  and  a  thing  like 
that !  Murder  is  nothing  to  that !  .  .  .  By  the  God 

above,  111  shoot  him  down  like  a  dog "  he  had 

sprung  to  his  feet,  pallid  with  rage,  and  walked  up 
and  down  before  her.  "I  have  sat  still  and  listened 
as  long  as  I  can,  and  I  understand  now — that  jail- 
bird !  It  has  always  been  money,  money, — it  has  al- 
ways been  what  he  has  sneaked  for,  and  forged  for, — • 
and  murdered  for,  too,  for  all  I  know.  Oh,  Kate,  you 

poor  child !"  His  voice  broke,  and  he  caught  his 

lip  between  his  teeth.  "I'll  kill  him,"  he  said, 
thickly.  "I'll  do  that  very  thing."  Kate  had  come 
to  his  side,  but  he  turned  his  convulsed  face  from 
her.  She  was  horrified  at  the  concentrated  fury  of  his 
utterance. 

"Horton,"  she  begged,  "listen  to  me  please! — 
How  would  it  help  me  if  you  hurt  him?"  She 
clasped  his  arm  with  trembling  hands  and  turned  him 
toward  her  a  little,  putting  her  hands  then  on  his 
shoulders.  "Listen  to  me,  dear.  If  you  want  to  add 
the  last  straw  to  my  burden,  you  will  do  a  thing  like 
that.  You  would  ruin  yourself,  and  me,  and  Pa- 
quita," — the  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  rolled 
down  her  cheeks — ' '  I  have  borne  about  all  I  can — but 
— but  that  would  be "  she  choked,  her  voice  lost. 

Horton  looked  down  at  her,  the  bluish-white  lines 
about  his  mouth  relaxing,  and  he  put  his  hands  over 
hers,  holding  them  pressed  to  his  breast.  "Don't, 

253 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Kate, ' '  he  said,  brokenly.  ' '  I  was  beside  myself  with 
rage.  Forget  what  I  said — I  would  do  nothing  of  the 
sort — when  I  came  to  consider.  I  should  see  what 
folly  it  would  be. — See,  I  am  in  my  right  mind  again. ' ' 

"But  you  will  forget  again,"  Kate  said,  shaking 
from  head  to  foot.  "You  mean  to  see  him,  and 
will " 

"No,  I  will  not,"  said  Horton.  "I  could  not  help 

it — for  the  moment "  He  drew  a  deep  breath, 

holding  her  hands  tightly.  "Come  and  sit  down, 
dear,  and  don't  be  so  frightened.  You  have  a  lot 
to  tell  me  yet,  and  I  shall  not  lose  control  of  myself 
again.  I  told  you  that  I  had  the  means  to  make  him 
let  you  alone,  and  I  have.  You  shall  not  see  him 
again,  but  I  promise  I  shall  not  use  violence  to  him. ' ' 

"You  will  forget,"  Kate  said. 

' '  I  promise  you  solemnly  I  shall  not,  and  you  must 
believe  me,  Kate."  He  spoke  emphatically  in  his  en- 
deavor to  lessen  her  distress.  "Come  and  sit  down. 
I  want  to  know  more  about  Paquita — it  was  she  you 
saw  at  the  Summit  Hill  house,  and  you  mean  that 
your  child  was  living?" 

"Yes.  It  was  not  true,  what  they  told  me,"  said 
Kate.  "It  was  he  who  told  them  so.  All  those  years 
I  had  believed  it,  and  watched  other  mothers  with  their 
children,  and  been  hungry  for  a  child  to  love,  and 
felt  that  I  would  never  have  that  happiness."  Her 
voice  quivered  with  passionate  feeling.  "It  was  the 

254 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

worst  thing  he  did  to  me — to  steal  my  child,  and  put 
her  among  such  surroundings.  It  will  take  years  to 
teach  her  to  forget  what  she  has  learned;  just  as  my 
young  girlhood  has  colored  all  my  life,  so  hers  will 
affect  hers,  and  I  am  almost  powerless."  She  sat 
upright,  white  now  in  her  turn  with  passion,  her 
eyes  showing  again  that  curious  contraction  of  the 
pupil  that  made  them  pale.  Horton  remembered  it 
well.  He  had  seen  the  same  light  in  the  eyes  of  an 
enraged  lioness,  and  in  spite  of  his  compassion  he 
felt  a  certain  awe  of  her.  "I  shall  struggle  for  her 
welfare,  and  fight  to  help  her  as  long  as  I  have  breath 
left — to  bring  a  child  into  the  world  and  then  leave 
its  soul  to  be  dwarfed  and  neglected — just  left  igno- 
rant of  the  meaning  of  truth !  That  is  the  worst  sin 

of  all "     She  stopped,  gasping,  and  covered  her 

eyes  with  her  hand.  ' '  Oh,  and  I  begged  you  a  minute 
ago  not  to  be  angry!"  she  said,  bitterly.  "And  I 
have  been  ill  with  rage  every  day  during  these  last 
weeks — ever  since  I  knew  I  had  a  child."  She  tried 
to  speak  more  calmly.  "I  saw  Paquita  first  in  that 
ruined  garden,  and  her  face  was  James's — or  yours. 
My  heart  stopped  beating  at  the  thought  that  came 
to  me.  It  was  a  sudden  doubt  of  something,  an  im- 
pression left  upon  my  mind  by  a  dream;  all  at  once 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  always  doubted.  I  asked 
her  her  name,  and  I  remembered  you,  and  I  felt  cold 
with  disappointment.  She  told  me  about  the  place 

255 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

and  her  relationship,  but  that  moment's  doubt,  and 
the  flash  of  certainty  that  followed  it,  had  burned 
itself  on  my  mind,  I  hurried  back  here  to  ask  you 
about  your  family  and  Paquita.  I  knew  you  would 
come  that  afternoon,  and  if  you  had  not  I  should  have 
sent  for  you.  Paquita  had  spoken  of  James  Payne  as 
being  her  guardian.  I  was  puzzled,  suspicious,  and 
terribly  excited;  things  began  to  shape  themselves 
in  my  mind.  You  knew  nothing  of  Paquita,  but 
you  told  me  about  yourself  and  James,  and  it  all 
came  to  me — the  tangle  was  smoothed  out.  I  went 
down  to  Los  Angeles,  and  went  first  to  the  old  house. 
The  old  woman  told  me  that  Paquita  had  gone  away 
'for  good,'  and  I  was  more  and  more  excited — I 
thought  that  James  himself  might  be  there  in  the  city 
and  have  suspected,  and  taken  her  away.  I  tried  to 
find  out  about  him,  and  discovered  at  once  that  he 
had  lived  in  Los  Angeles  over  two  years ;  that  the  big 
real  estate  office  with  all  its  placards,  and  the  liveried 
usher  at  the  door,  was  owned  and  managed  by  him. 
You  know  it — The  Alvareta  Land  Company  ?  It  looks 
very  prosperous." 

"Yes,"  said  Horton,  "I  know.  I  have  been  near 
enough  to  watch  James 's  career ;  it  is  his  latest  scheme, 
more  reputable,  apparently,  than  most." 

"I  found  at  The  Sisters'  that  Paquita  had  been 
brought  to  them  when  she  was  a  few  months'  old  by 
the  old  ^Mexican  woman,  Anita,  and  a  man  who  said 

250 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

he  was  a  relative  of  the  child's,  a  Mr.  James  Payne, 
and  she  was  baptized  there  as  Frances  Payne.  They 
said  that  she  was  a  relation  of  the  Paynes  of  Summit 
Hill,  and  that  James  Payne  was  her  guardian.  A  few 
months  later  James  took  her  away,  and  four  years 
later  he  brought  her  back  to  them,  and  she  was  there 
most  of  the  time  until  she  went  to  St.  Mary's.  I 
sent  a  competent  man  to  New  Orleans,  and  he  was 
fortunate  in  finding  the  Creole  woman.  He  discov- 
ered that  James  had  left  her  house  immediately  after 
I  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  and  had  taken  my  child 
with  him.  He  could  not  find  where  they  had  gone,  or 
anything  else  about  them.  There  was  no  record  of  a 
death  at  that  period  that  would  apply. 

"I  had  come  back  here  then  and  was  waiting  for 
that  man 's  report  in  a  state  of  mind  I  cannot  describe. 
You  left,  and,  in  a  day  or  two  Aunt  Silence  went,  and 
I  walked  the  floor  for  two  days,  I  think,  for  there 
was  no  one  to  watch  me.  I  received  the  report  from 
New  Orleans  in  the  morning,  and  was  trying  to  think 
what  was  best  to  do  next,  when  James  came  here  to 
see  me."  Kate  spoke  a  little  breathlessly.  "I  don't 
know  how  to  tell  you  about  that  interview — I  had 
not  seen  him  for  all  those  years,  but  I  felt  paralyzed 
by  him,  just  as  I  used  to  be;  only  the  thought  of 
what  I  had  at  stake  kept  me  up.  He  spoke  as  calmly 
as  if  we  had  met  yesterday.  He  was  smiling  and 
polite  while  he  threatened,  but  he  knew  I  had  found 
17  257 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

my  child  and  that  I  would  pay  high  for  her.  It  was 
for  that  he  came.  It  was  the  substance  of  our  inter- 
view ;  he  wanted  money,  all  he  could  get  from  me,  and 
I  wanted  my  child,  and  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
I  think  he  took  her  away  from  me  when  he  did,  either 
with  the  expectation  of  getting  something  from  her 
English  relatives  or  of  searching  me  out  later  on,  and 
extorting  money  from  me — oh,  that  man!"  Kate 
shuddered,  violently. 

"He  said  one  thing  that  frightened  me  more  than 
any  other  threat  he  made.  'You  forget  Paquita 's 
possible  attitude  in  this  matter,'  he  said.  'I  have 
some  fourteen  years  the  advantage  of  you  in  her  affec- 
tions, and  I  may  have  some  influence  with  her.  I 
need  money,  yes,  I  need  it  particularly,  and  after 
all  I  should  be  glad  to  have  Paquita  provided  with  a 
home  such  as  you  will  give  her,  but  she  will  have 
views  of  her  own — if  I  suggest  them  to  her,'  and  he 
laughed  when  he  said  it.  'What  you  want  is  for 
Paquita  to  love  you.  If  she  comes  to  you  in  the  right 
spirit  you  will  find  it  easy  to  teach  her  to  care  for  you ; 
if  not,  you  have  a  serious  difficulty  on  your  hands. 
You  are  no  more  eager  for  publicity  than  I  am,  and 
it  would  be  a  terrible  thing  for  Paquita.  If  you  will 
assist  me  financially  I  will  see  Paquita  and  prepare 
her  for  seeing  you.  I  know  that  she  has  always  sus- 
pected me  of  being  her  father,  but  she  knows  nothing 
at  all  about  her  mother,  and  you  will  have  to  tell  her 

258 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

your  own  story — that  is  your  right  anyway,  and  I 
have  no  intention  of  interfering  with  it,  even  if  it 
gives  her  a  poor  opinion  of  her  father.  I  only  promise 
that  Paquita  will  receive  you  in  the  right  frame  of 
mind,  and  I  think  be  only  too  glad  to  come  to  you. 
I  suggest  that  you  take  her  quietly,  and  in  a  way 
that  will  avoid  comment.  If  you  legally  adopt  her, 
you  do  nothing  unusual,  and  I  am  sure  that  under  all 
the  circumstances  Paquita  will  see  the  sense  of  it. 
That  she  is  really  your  daughter  is  your  own  affair 
and  Paquita 's,  and  concerns  nobody  else.  You  are 
not  called  upon  to  make  explanations  to  the  world. ' 

"He  is  very  clever,  Horton,"  Kate  said,  her  lips 
trembling.  "The  threat  that  Paquita  would  turn 
from  me,  and  refuse  to  come  with  me — that  he  would 
turn  her  against  me — made  me  docile.  I  agreed  to 
meet  him  in  Los  Angeles,  and  go  with  him  to  Pa- 
quita. She  was  not  at  the  old  house,  she  was  at  a 
hotel.  She  received  me  quietly,  even  affectionately, 
and  James  left  us  together.  I  could  not  say  much; 
it  was  too  wonderful  to  me  that  she  really  belonged 
to  me;  I  had  been  lonely  so  long. — I — I  brought  her 
back  with  me,  and  she  has  always  been  just  the  same 
to  me — quiet  and  sweet  in  her  manner,  and  anxious 
to  fit  herself  to  her  surroundings.  She  has  adapted 
herself  so  quickly,  but — but  I  wish  I  understood  her 
better — there  is  all  the  future — perhaps  in  time  I 

can  feel  that  she  really  loves  me "    Kate  could 

not  go  on. 

259 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"  Is  it  that  has  made  you  so  wretched  during  these 
last  weeks,  Kate  ? ' ' 

"No,"  she  said,  "no,  that  is  only  a  part  of  it.  I 
gave  him  money  and  he  promised  not  to  trouble  me 
again,  or  try  to  see  Paquita,  but  he  has  been  here  more 
than  once.  He  says  that  he  is  frantic  about  his  busi- 
ness, that  he  has  been  carrying  it  on  by  raising  money 
in  any  way  he  could.  Of  course  his  methods  are  crim- 
inal, they  always  are.  He  has  done  such  things  as 
taking  money,  giving  in  return  mortgages  on  property 
that  either  did  not  exist,  or  to  which  he  had  no  claim 
whatever.  He  has  chosen  for  his  victims  people  who 
are  ignorant,  or  women  who  are  helpless,  but  the  end 
is  sure  to  come.  He  wanted  me  to  understand  that 
he  might  be  taken  into  custody  at  any  time,  and  his 
whole  history  made  public,  and  of  course  my  connec- 
tion with  him  also.  He  has  kept  me  in  a  fever  of 
anxiety,  and  I  have  given  him  more  money — I  had  to 
have  time  to  consider,  to  think  what  was  best  to  do  for 
Paquita."  She  stopped. 

" Is  that  all,  Kate?" 

Kate  flushed  scarlet.  ' '  No, ' '  she  said.  ' '  He  came 
the  other  day  with  another  plan.  .  .  .  He  wished 
me  to  marry  him;  it  would  be  best  for  Paquita,  it 
would  be  best  for  him,  it  would  be  best  for  me. ' '  The 
fire  of  scorn  flamed  in  Kate's  eyes.  "Any  outcast, 
however  low,  can  come  to  me  for  money — but  not  for 
that!  I  ordered  him  from  my  house  as  I  would  a 

260 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

dog,  and  I  wrote  to  you — I  had  reached  the  limit  of 

my  endurance "  She  paused  again,  breathing 

quickly. 

Horton's  face  was  blazing.  "I  expected  to  hear 
this — this  last  effort.  Is  that  all?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

Horton  sat  thinking,  his  eyes  on  the  water.  Twi- 
light had  gathered  and  the  tide  had  crept  so  high  that 
each  wave  splashed  the  edge  of  the  rock,  and  sent  a 
shower  of  spray  to  their  feet.  The  color  faded  slowly 
from  his  face,  and  in  the  half  light  he  appeared  lined 
and  gray.  He  turned  at  last  and  looked  at  her. 
"Kate,"  he  said,  "in  these  last  years  of  loneliness, 
and  longing  for  happiness,  you  took  into  your  heart 
a  man  whom  you  could  assist — on  whom  you  could  lav- 
ish some  of  that  interest  you  would  have  given  a  child. 
It  began  that  way,  and  it  ended  in  your  loving  him. 
If  James  and  all  that  goes  with  him  are  wiped  out  of 
your  path,  and  you  can  have  your  daughter  to  love, 
would  you  marry  him?" 

"No,"  said  Kate,  firmly. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked. 

"Because  I  will  not  go  to  a  man  with  an  apology 
on  my  lips — an  apology  for  myself  and  my  child." 

' '  That  is  merely  your  view  of  it — it  would  not  be 
hii." 

"It  is  mine — that  is  enough."  Her  manner  was 
final.  She  looked  up  at  him,  meeting  his  eyes  fairly. 

261 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Horton  drew  a  sharp  breath.  "I  knew  you  would 
say  that!"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  to  himself.  He  was 
silent  again  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  and  put 
the  shawl  about  her.  "Are  you  chilly,  dear?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  but  we  must  go  up  before  the  tide  is  higher." 

"And  I  must  go  back  to  the  hotel.  I  shall  take  the 
night  train  to  Los  Angeles." 

"And,  Horton,  you  can  do  what  you  said — ac- 
tually  ?"  Her  air  was  timid  and  appealing. 

"Yes,  dear." 

She  sighed  and  sat  up,  clasping  her  hands  in  her 
lap.  "I  shall  be  almost  as  happy  as  when  I  was  a 
little  girl,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper.  "I  cannot  believe 
it!" 

He  looked  at  her,  his  lips  trembling  slightly. 
"Back  there  at  Eisenach?"  he  asked,  half  seriously. 
"What  was  your  real  name,  Kate?  I  decided  long 
ago  that  the  name  I  overheard  you  give  on  the  train 
might  not  be  yours." 

* '  It  was  not  my  name, ' '  Kate  said.  ' '  I  was  in  such 
a  state  of  fear  that  I  dreaded  to  say  my  name  aloud. 
I  gave  the  first  name  that  occurred  to  me — on  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment.  When  my  uncle  offered  to  let 
me  call  myself  Talworth  I  was  glad,  for  it  made  it 
harder  for  James  to  find  me.  I  think  it  was  partly 
my  uncle's  object  to  save  me  possible  future  annoy- 
ance, and  also  he  hated  my  mother's  English  marriage. 
My  father's  name  was  Ashburton." 

262 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

"Ashburton!"  Horton  said,  and  then  he  repeated 
the  name  again  slowly,  staring  at  Kate,  "Ashbur- 
ton — — "  He  took  his  arm  from  the  back  of  the 
bench  and  sat  up  straight.  "It  is  an  unusual  name," 
he  remarked,  and  sat  motionless.  Kate  looked  at  him 
in  some  surprise,  but  she  could  make  nothing  of  his 
expression.  He  sighed  when  he  finally  turned  to  her. 
"I  was  wondering  if  I  might  ask  you  a  question,"  he 
said.  "If  instead  of  being  in  the  position  in  which  you 
choose  to  consider  yourself,  Kate,  you  were  as  free  to 
marry  as  others  about  you,  would  you  marry  Richard 
Allison  then?" 

There  was  silence.  Then  Kate  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"You  must  know — why  do  you  ask  me?" 

"Because  I  love  you  I  suppose,"  he  said,  a  little 
unsteadily.  He  rose  abruptly,  standing  very  straight. 
' '  I  must  go  or  I  will  miss  my  train.  See  the  water  is 
fairly  on  us,"  for  a  larger  wave  than  usual  had  dashed 
them  with  spray.  Kate  rose  also  and  stood  beside  him. 

"We  must  go  along  this  steep  place  behind  us;  it 
will  bring  us  to  the  path."  Her  voice  was  low  and 
troubled. 

Horton  looked  at  her.  "Are  you  angry  with  me 
for  asking  that?" 

"You  do  everything  for  me,  and  I — I — only  hurt 
you,"  she  said,  in  distress. 

' '  Do  you,  Kate,  .  .  .  then  will  you  have  patience 
with  me  if  I  ask  you  something  more? — Is  the  sight 

263 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

of  me  still  painful — do  I  still  remind  you  of  James  so 
strongly  that  you  wish  me  away  ?  Your  answer  means 
a  great  deal  to  me,  but  I  want  you  to  answer  truth- 
fully." 

"No,  no!"  Kate  exclaimed.  "It  is  gone,  that 
feeling.  You  must  know  that  I  never  could  have 
talked  to  you — told  you  what  I  have  to-day,  if  I 
did  not  trust  you.  I  have  been  wretched — almost  be- 
side myself  during  these  weeks,  but  in  spite  of  that 
I  thought  of  you — unconsciously.  To  me  you  are  no- 
body but  yourself — there  is  nothing  in  you  like  that 
man '  She  paused,  breathless  in  her  earnestness. 

"I  have  won  a  great  deal,"  Horton  said,  his  voice 
grown  firmer,  "and  it  should  be  enough — but,  Kate, 
would  you  make  me  happy  then — just  for  once — 
not  if  you  would  rather  not — but, — would  you  kiss 
me,  Kate, — before  I  go?" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  hesitating  for  a  moment, 
then  came  closer  and  reaching  up  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  her  lips  just  touching  his  cheek.  He  turned 
his  head  a  little,  and  kissed  her  gently,  then  more 
lingeringly,  his  arms  about  her.  Then  he  let  her  go. 
"Thank  you,  dear,"  he  said,  very  low. 

They  turned  and  climbed  up  the  steep  path  be- 
tween the  eucalyptus  in  silence,  and  reaching  the  bank 
above,  passed  round  the  house  to  the  driveway.  Hor- 
ton untied  his  horse,  then  paused  a  moment.  "I  shall 

264 


The  Uses  of  Adversity 

write  to  you,  Kate,  to-morrow,  or  next  day.  You  will 
promise  me  to  sleep  to-night?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

"That's  right,"  he  said,  as  he  mounted.  "I  shall 
have  to  ride  fast  now."  He  wheeled  his  horse,  and 
Kate  stood  a  long  time  listening  to  the  beat  of  his 
horse's  hoofs,  for  he  was  going  at  a  steady  gallop. 


XII. 

MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER 

IT  was  not  until  two  days  later,  and  toward  the 
latter  part  of  the  afternoon,  that  Horton  was  able 
finally  to  turn  in  the  direction  of  his  objective  point. 
They  had  been  two  intensely  disagreeable  days.  He 
had  risen  early,  and  retired  late,  busying  himself  over 
matters  that  filled  him  with  disgust.  He  had  had  no 
time  to  yield  to  depression;  that  hung  in  the  back- 
ground. His  last  move  had  been  to  visit  the  Summit 
Hill  house,  seeking  an  interview  with  the  wild-eyed 
woman  in  her  invalid  chair.  From  old  Anita  he  had 
learned  a  little,  and  only  one  fact  of  importance  from 
Inez.  She  had  been  loyal  to  the  man  she  had  served 
so  long. 

Horton  found  himself  elbowed  by  the  usual  after, 
noon  crowd.  The  men  of  early  office  hours  were  al- 
ready on  the  sidewalk,  hurrying  to  transact  a  last 
bit  of  business,  or  seeking  their  automobiles.  The 
crowd  of  women  who  took  advantage  of  the  cooler 
hours  for  shopping  and  the  rouge-tinted  who  came 
for  their  late  afternoon  parade,  jostled  each  other 
before  the  store  windows.  The  theatres  were  empty- 
ing the  matinee-goers  into  the  already  crowded  streets, 
and  the  dozens  of  automobiles  threaded  their  way 
slowly  along,  turning  into  side  streets  that  would  give 

266 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

them  a  chance  for  better  speed.  They  carried  double- 
chinned  men  and  women  who  looked  replete  with 
rapidly  acquired  prosperity,  offering  a  tempting  ex- 
ample to  the  chasers  of -the  dollar  mark  on  the  side- 
walk. There  was  hurry  and  bustle  without  geniality 
or  laughter,  a  collection  of  units,  strangers  to  each 
other  in  most  part,  but  bound  together  by  the  com- 
pelling chain  of  possibilities.  A  town  of  possibilities 
sprung  by  bounds  into  a  city  of  greater  potentiality ; 
a  combination  of  crudities,  sunned  into  virile  life  by 
a  sky  of  infinite  blue,  swept  clean  by  the  sweet,  dry 
breath  of  the  desert,  or  touched  in  turn  by  the  foggy 
fingers  of  the  ocean,  but  possessing  in  full  the  essen- 
tial power  of  crudity ;  a  marvel  of  the  present,  a  still 
greater  marvel  of  the  future. 

As  Horton  pushed  his  way  impatiently  along,  his 
rasped  nerves  were  only  capable  of  sensing  the  pain- 
ful glare  of  the  late  afternoon  sun  that  brought  into 
relief  the  character  of  the  crowd  surging  about  him; 
a  dead  level  of  commonness  too  dull  for  humor.  He 
felt  incapable  of  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  limitless  blue 
above  him,  or  even  of  seeking  between  the  rows  of 
white  buildings  for  glimpses  of  the  marvellous  misty 
mauve  of  the  distant  mountains.  He  turned  into  the 
entrance  of  a  stone-fronted  building  the  entire  first 
floor  of  which  was  occupied  by  the  roller-topped  desks 
and  leather-covered  chairs  and  couches  of  the  Alva- 
reta  Land  and  Investment  Co.  The  huge  plate-glass 

267 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

window  displayed  framed  maps  of  new  tracts,  outlined 
and  tinted  to  catch  the  eye,  flanked  by  photographs 
of  gorgeous  homes  to  be  had  at  five  figures,  as  well  as 
modest  bungalows  procurable  for  next  to  nothing.  It 
is  natural  for  man  to  desire  a  home — behold  it  was 
offered  him  in  every  and  any  form.  It  is  also  natural 
for  him  to  desire  as  high  a  rate  of  interest  as  possible 
on  his  investment ;  that  also  was  within  his  easy  reach. 

A  six-foot  usher,  resplendent  in  blue  cloth  and  gilt 
buttons,  guarded  the  entrance,  and  piloted  the  unwary 
investment  seeker  into  troubled  waters.  Horton  strode 
past  the  imposing  figure,  making  his  way  to  the  near- 
est roller-topped  desk.  A  dapper,  black-haired  young 
man  of  pronouncedly  aquiline  features  and  caressing 
manner  rose  to  meet  him.  "What  can  I  do  for  you, 
sir?"  he  asked. 

Horton  smiled  slightly.  "Where  can  I  find  Mr. 
Payne?"  he  answered. 

"He  is  in  his  private  office,"  said  the  young  man. 
"I'll  see  if  he  is  disengaged." 

"Don't  trouble,"  said  Horton.  "I  am  expected, 
or  ought  to  be — point  out  his  door  to  me." 

The  young  man  indicated  a  door  at  the  quietest 
end  of  the  room,  and  started  to  lead  the  way,  but 
Horton  stopped  him  with  an  impatient  gesture.  "I 
can  find  my  own  way,"  he  said,  shortly,  and  he  went 
on  down  the  long  room  to  the  door  marked  private. 
It  was  half  open,  and  Horton  stood  on  the  threshold 

268 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

looking  in.  James  Payne  was  seated  giving  orders  to 
the  two  young  sub-agents  that  stood  at  his  desk.  His 
clear-toned,  incisive  words  came  distinctly  to  Horton's 
ears.  ' '  Promise  every  man  that  comes  that  if  he  buys 
a  lot  he  can  have  a  steady  job  on  the  tract.  Get 
his  contract  signed  up  and  the  money  for  his  first 
instalment — the  more  you  can  squeeze  out  of  him  the 
better — and  see  that  he  has  something  to  do,  on  the 
grading,  or  anything  else,  for  a  day  or  two.  Then 
let  him  go  to  the  devil — you'll  want  his  place  for  the 
next  man  that  comes  along.  You  '11  get  your  commis- 
sion, and  we'll  get  ours — that's  all  we  want  I  guess. 
If  he's  got  some  money  he'll  go  on  paying,  and  if 
he  hasn't,  why  he'll  lose  his  contract — he's  the  only 
one  out  anyway." 

The  young  men  passed  Horton,  laughing,  and  he 
stepped  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 
He  stood  leaning  against  it,  his  hat  in  one  hand,  his 
other  hand  in  his  coat  pocket.  The  telephone  had 
rung  sharply,  and  James  Payne  raised  it.  "No, 
Madame,"  he  said  in  his  pleasant,  candid  voice,  that 
bore  the  courteous  inflection  of  a  gentleman;  "Mr. 
Payne  has  not  returned  yet.  We  expect  him  to-mor- 
row— or  the  day  after  at  latest.  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  I 
should  not  worry  about  it — he  gave  you  a  receipt  did 
he  not?  Well  then  it  is  all  right.  He  will  have  the 
paper  for  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  Madame,  of  course,  but 
Mr.  Payne  is  very  careful  about  such  things.  You 

269 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

would  better  come  in  to-morrow,  and  he  will  have  it 

for  you "  He  hung  up  the  receiver.  "The  devil 

he  will!"  he  said,  and  turning  in  his  chair  he  rose, 
and  looked  into  Horton  's  eyes.  A  quiver  passed  over 
his  face,  like  a  ripple  over  smooth  water,  and  on  the 
second  his  hand  was  beneath  his  coat,  but  Horton  was 
too  quick  for  him.  ' '  Better  let  it  be, ' '  he  said,  quietly. 
They  stood  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  then  Hor- 
ton said  in  the  same  tone,  "I  want  a  word  or  two 
with  you,  that's  all — just  show  your  hands.  I  don't 
want  to  hold  this  thing  all  day." 

James  Payne  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  Hor- 
ton 's,  but  he  brought  his  hand  back  to  the  front  of  his 
waistcoat,  and  Horton  moved  aside  from  the  door. 
"I  have  set  the  latch,"  he  remarked.  "We  will  not 
be  disturbed.  Suppose  you  sit  down — I  will  sit  on  the 
desk." 

James  shrugged  slightly,  and  sat  down,  and  Hor- 
ton threw  one  leg  across  the  corner  of  the  desk,  one 
hand  pressing  his  knee,  the  other  resting  on  the  desk 
close  to  his  pocket.  James  bent  forward  and  took  up 
a  half  sheet  of  paper  that  lay  on  his  desk,  and  he 
folded  and  unfolded  it,  bending  and  twisting  it  in 
unsteady  hands,  as  he  talked.  His  face  was  expres- 
sionless except  for  the  blood  that  had  risen  to  his 
cheeks.  Like  Horton  he  was  fair-skinned,  and  like 
him  he  flushed  and  paled  as  easily  as  a  woman — much 
more  so  than  most.  His  hair  was  darker,  and  well 

270 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

touched  with  gray,  while  Horton's  was  still  as  yellow 
as  a  boy 's,  and  his  eyes  narrowed  more  readily,  but  on 
the  whole  the  likeness  between  them  was  marked. 
It  lay  in  the  shape  and  carriage  of  the  head,  a  certain 
distinction  of  bearing.  There  was  the  same  dark 
'blue  eye,  and  general  contour  of  brow  and  chin. 
James  was  the  better  looking  man,  for  he  lacked  Hor- 
ton 's  massive  jaw,  and  his  features  were  more  regular. 
There  was  more  grace,  and  less  strength  in  the  lines  of 
his  body,  and  he  was  not  quite  so  tall  or  so  broad- 
shouldered  as  his  step-brother. 

He  looked  up  now  into  Horton  's  face,  his  eyes  nar- 
rowed into  mere  slits,  his  mouth  smiling  slightly. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "and  to  what  am  I  indebted  for 
this  honor?" 

Horton  did  not  answer  him  at  once.  He  had  not 
been  face  to  face  with  James  Payne  for  several  years, 
and  he  studied  him  thoughtfully.  He  felt  a  certain 
surprise  at  his  appearance.  The  evil  story  to  which 
he  had  listened  two  evenings  before  appeared  unreal, 
abnormal,  in  the  presence  of  this  man  of  gentlemanly 
aspect  and  bearing.  Horton  experienced  the  same 
sense  of  shocked  disgust,  a  recoil  from  the  unnatural, 
that  he  recognized  as  his  attitude  in  former  years.  It 
touched  the  surface  of  his  cold  anger,  and  prompted 
his  remark. 

"And  you  are  actually  a  Payne?"  he  said. 

James's  eyes  widened,  slightly,  and  he  laughed 

271 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

his  soft  laugh.  "Why,  yes,"  he  said;  "that  was  a 
matter  in  which  I  was  not  consulted.  I  simply 
couldn  't  help  it.  But  why  that  remark  ? ' ' 

"Only  that  it  struck  me  for  a  moment  that  it  was 
a  great  pity  about  you." 

"Is  that  what  you  came  here  to  say?"  James's 
brows  lifted. 

"No,"  said  Horton.  "I  have  just  come  from  the 
Summit  Hill  house.  I  found  it  occupied  by  friends 
of  yours." 

"Well — they  don't  do  you  any  harm,"  James  said. 
"The  old  woman's  nothing  but  a  poor  old  Mexican, 
and  glad  to  take  a  lodger  who  will  pay  her  a  trifle 
for  a  rotten  room  or  two.  That  paralyzed  woman 
can't  hurt  anybody."  His  look  was  guarded,  and 
slightly  puzzled,  but  there  was  an  edge  to  his  words 
that  Horton  understood. 

"No,  she's  harmless  now,"  he  replied,  "and  be- 
cause she  is  the  wretched  suffering  creature  she  is,  I 
will  tell  you  that  she  is  loyal  to  you.  You  need  not 
vent  your  anger  on  her,  for  she  told  me  very  little, 
and  only  one  thing  that  I  did  not  know  already.  She 
only  informed  me  of  her  relations  to  you  when  I  told 
her  of  your  most  recent  proposal  to  Miss  Talworth — 
she  was  too  much  of  a  woman  to  keep  quiet  then. ' ' 

"Ah — "  said  James,  very  slowly.  He  controlled 
his  features  well,  his  eyes  still  steady  in  their  gaze, 
but  Horton  knew  the  army  of  thoughts  that  his  nimble 

272 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

brain  was  marshalling  and  adjusting  to  meet  the  un- 
expected. It  aroused  a  faint  sense  of  amusement  in 
Horton,  who  knew  the  inevitable  result  of  their  inter- 
view, but  it  appeared  an  unnecessary  waste  of  energy 
as  well,  and  he  lifted  his  shoulders  impatiently,  draw- 
ing a  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"Read  that,"  he  said,  shortly,  handing  it  to 
James.  "If  I  were  a  little  more  like  you,  I  suppose 
I  would  sit  here  another  half  hour  laughing  inwardly 
at  your  mental  gymnastics,  but  the  sooner  we  con- 
clude this  thing  the  better." 

James  took  the  paper  and  read  it  through  slowly 
and  carefully,  and  then  sat  looking  down  at  it  still, 
the  blood  rising  hot  to  his  face.  "The  dates  are  cor- 
rect," Horton  remarked,  dryly.  "I  thought  you 
might  grasp  them  better  if  they  were  written.  I  do 
not  need  your  corroboration  of  them.  Miss  Talworth 
is  as  free  as  air,  and  there  is  no  more  for  you  in  that 
direction.  I  have  spoiled  as  damnable  a  piece  of  ras- 
cality as  ever  a  degenerate  mind  invented,  only  I 
should  have  come  on  the  scene  a  little  earlier." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time  and  then  James 
looked  up.  "Well?"  he  said.  The  word  was  softly 
spoken,  but  it  was  vibrant  with  passion,  and  he  smiled. 

The  bluish  lines  appeared  about  Horton 's  lips. 
"I  seem  to  have  a  faculty  for  thwarting  you,  you 
mean  to  say."  He  bent  forward  slightly,  smiling 
at  the  other;  they  looked  wonderfully  alike  for  the 

18  273 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

moment.  Then  Horton's  expression  changed,  and  he 
lifted  himself  abruptly.  "James,"  he  said,  "I  have 
had  an  entire  contempt,  and  I  thought  a  thorough  un- 
derstanding of  you  for  a  very  long  time,  but  I  think 
now  I  really  never  grasped  the  right  explanation  of 
you.  I  told  you  several  years  ago  when  you  forged 
my  name  for  the  second  time,  that  if  ever  again  a 
criminality  of  yours  crossed  my  path,  I  would  send 
you  to  the  penitentiary  without  a  qualm. ' '  Ilorton  's 
voice  deepened.  "The  other  evening  when  I  learned 
what  you  had  done  to  a  helpless  girl — you  thing  too 
vile  to  breathe,  and  a  decent  name  tacked  to  you ! — I 
could  have  shot  you  with  less  compunction  than  I 
would  a  mangy  dog.  But  I  have  had  two  days  and 
nights  in  which  to  consider  you,  and  I  have  reached 
a  different  view  of  you.  I  think  you  are  insane — 
quite  as  much  so  as  any  raving  maniac  who  wears  a 
straight-jacket — only  your  illness  of  mind  has  taken 
a  different  direction.  I  brought  this  with  me,  and 
showed  it  promptly,  because  it  is  impossible  to  calcu- 
late what  effect  sudden  fear  may  have  upon  an  un- 
balanced mind,  and  I  had  another's  interests  to  con- 
sider. You  would  have  shot  me  dead,  there  by  the 
door,  before  you  knew  what  you  were  doing — if  I  had 
not  covered  you.  You  are  just  as  great  a  menace  to 
the  welfare  of  those  about  you  as  any  other  irrespon- 
sible and  I  propose  that  you  shall  be  well  guarded 
for  the  rest  of  your  days.  I  never  before  gave  any 

274 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

thought  to  the  education  of  criminals,  or  the  skilful 
treatment  of  the  mentally  perverted,  but  I  confess 
a  curiosity  as  to  the  result  of  the  treatment  I  propose 
for  you.  I  have  decided  to  make  you  an  offer — I  pre- 
fer to  put  it  in  the  form  of  an  offer  rather  than  a 
command — which  will,  I  think,  commend  itself  to  your 
shrewdness. 

"I  propose  that  by  this  time  to-morrow  you  shall 
be  on  your  way  out  of  this  country — by  that  I  mean 
this  continent — and  you  will  go  escorted.  I  have  in 
mind  a  place  where  the  laws  are  quite  as  well  en- 
forced as  they  are  here,  and  there  is  an  American 
consul  who  bestirs  himself  promptly.  I  am  thinking 
of  Melbourne.  It  is  a  fairly  pleasant  place  in  which 
to  live,  and  if  I  remember  rightly  as  a  boy  you  were 
wild  to  go  to  Australia.  I  will  be  responsible  for  the 
expenses  of  your  journey,  and  on  the  middle  and  the 
last  day  of  each  week  after  you  arrival  you  will  receive 
the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars  as  your  regular  in- 
come. These  payments  will  be  subject  to  several 
conditions.  You  must  appear  in  person  to  receive 
them — the  money  will  be  paid  only  into  your  own 
hand.  If  you  fail  to  appear  once  the  payments  cease. 
Any  irregularities  of  conduct  that  would  subject  you 
to  the  laws  of  the  country  will  also  put  an  end  to  our 
agreement.  The  only  things  asked  of  you  are  that 
you  will  be  a  law-abiding  citizen,  and  have  a  per- 

275 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

manent  place  of  residence — otherwise  you  will  be  per- 
fectly free."  Horton  stopped. 

"Well,  I'll  be  eternally  damned!"  James  ex- 
claimed, staring  at  Horton  in  utter  amazement.  Then 
he  added  half  aloud,  "  So  I  am  mentally  perverted  am 
I?"  He  pondered  over  his  last  remark  thoughtfully 
before  he  said  with  a  return  of  his  usual  manner, 
"You  mean  that  you  are  going  to  pay  me  two  hundred 
dollars  a  week  to  keep  me  out  of  the  country,  and  on 
my  good  behavior." 

"I  expected  you  to  take  that  view  of  it." 

"And  you  mean  what  you  say,  and  will  give  me  a 
guarantee  that  your  proposition  is  straight?" 

"I  should  not  expect  you  to  take  the  mere  word 
of  any  man,"  Horton  replied. 

James  studied  his  brother's  clear  eye  in  silence, 
then  he  said,  ' '  Sunpose  I  choose  to  stay  ? ' ' 

"That  is  for  you  to  say,"  Horton  replied.  "To  a 
certain  extent  I  am  indifferent.  I  would  prefer  that 
you  close  with  my  offer,  for  I  still  have  a  family  pride 
that  dislikes  to  see  my  name  disgraced.  But  it  will 
not  stand  in  the  way  of  my  putting  you  where  you 
are  harmless — not  for  a  moment — that  I  have  decided 
on  as  imperative." 

"And  Miss  Talworth ?"    James  spoke  with  a 

watchful  eye  on  Horton 's  set  face,  but  the  smiling 
malice  that  was  the  quality  always  least  under  his 
control,  had  refused  to  be  ignored. 

276 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

The  blood  burned  in  Horton's  face,  and  he 
clenched  and  unclenched  the  hand  on  his  knee,  but 
he  succeeded  in  answering  calmly  the  man  who  shrank 
a  little  under  his  flaming  glance.  ' '  Suppose  you  keep 
to  the  matter  in  hand,"  he  said.  "I  have  made  you 
an  offer — take  it,  or  leave  it." 

"I  take  it — of  course,"  James  said,  without  hesi- 
tation. "But  how  about  all  this?"  He  waved  his 
hand  to  indicate  his  surroundings.  "You  say  I  am 
to  journey  away  by  noon  to-morrow. ' ' 

"It  will  be  left  in  the  hands  of  some  one  who  is 
competent  to  close  things  up.  You  have  kept  your- 
self extraordinarily  free  of  real  estate — it's  a  hin- 
drance when  one  is  given  to  sudden  changes  of  resi- 
dence. I  have  looked  up  your  creditors,  and  from 
the  number  of  them  I  judge  that  you  were  intending 
very  shortly  to  leave  them  agape.  I  have  made  a  list 
of  the  most  clamorous,  and  you  will  leave  enough  be- 
hind you  to  settle  your  debts — it  is  not  such  a  large 
sum  that  you  cannot  spare  it  out  of  the  amount  you 
proposed  to  carry  away  with  you. ' ' 

James  flushed  angrily,  but  he  only  asked,  "And 
Inez?" 

"She  has  asked  to  be  allowed  to  stay  where  she 
is,"  Horton  said.  "I  offered  her  a  room  and  care  at  a 
hospital  if  she  would  take  it,  but  she  begged  to  be  left 
where  she  was.  I  shall  see  that  she  has  enough  for  her 
needs — she  will  not  want  anything  long." 

277 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

James  made  no  comment,  but  a  faint  pucker  ap- 
peared on  his  usually  smooth  forehead;  then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "And  Paquita  will,  I  sup- 
pose, be  idolized  by  her  fond  mother!  What  a  per- 
fect apportionment  for  everybody!"  The  irrepres- 
sible gleam  appeared  in  the  depths  of  his  eyes.  "Give 
me  timd  and  I  may  even  become  a  model  character." 

"We  shall  see,"  Horton  replied,  imperturbably. 
"I  propose  that  you  shall  have  your  chance.  We  will 
try  the  effect  of  a  comfortable  income  upon  you.  The 
possession  of  ample  means  of  support  without  the 
necessity  of  scheming,  and  lying,  and  stealing  for  it 
will  be  a  new  experience  to  you.  It  will  be  interest- 
ing to  see  how  you  deport  yourself  under  such  un- 
usual circumstances."  Horton  lifted  himself,  and 
stood  up.  "As  we  have  reached  a  conclusion,  and  I 
have  plenty  to  do  before  to-morrow,  I  will  go. ' ' 

"But  I  don't  know  any  particulars,"  James  ob- 
jected. "When  am  I  going  to  see  you  again?" 

"At  half -past  eight,  here,  to-morrow  morning," 
Horton  said,  as  he  turned  to  the  door.  "You  come 
prepared  to  pay  your  bills,  and  I  shall  be  ready  to 
disabuse  your  mind  of  any  doubts  as  to  the  sincerity 
of  my  intentions." 

"Wait  a  minute!"  James  said,  whirling  round  in 
his  chair.  "You  said  I  was  to  be  'escorted'  on  my 
journey — who  is  my  escort  to  be?" 

"Myself,"  Horton  replied. 
278 


My  Brother's  Keeper 

"You!"  James  ejaculated,  his  heavy  jaw  drop- 
ping ;  then  he  recovered  himself  in  a  laugh.  ' '  Suppose 
I  give  you  the  slip  between  this  and  then." 

' '  I  have  provided  against  that, ' '  Horton  answered, 
as  the  door  closed  on  him,  "both  for  the  present  and 
the  future." 


XIII. 

THE  WINDOW  OF  HOPE 

"I  SUPPOSE,"  said  Aunt  Silence,  " as  I  am  fifty- 
five,  and  you,  Paquita,  are  so  extremely  young,  we 
have  to  resign  ourselves  to  being  neglected.  Wasn't 
there  a  single  thing  for  me — not  even  an  advertise- 
ment?" 

"No,"  said  Paquita,  "nothing  at  all."  She  had 
just  come  out  of  the  dingy  little  post-office  to  the  big 
touring-car  in  which  Mrs.  Silence  and  Kate  were 
seated,  and  as  she  leaned  over  to  hand  Kate  a  bulky 
letter,  she  looked  up  into  Mrs.  Silence's  face  of  mock 
annoyance  with  shining  eyes.  They  had  taken  their 
usual  afternoon  ride  along  the  coast  road,  turning  in- 
land to  skirt  Peek's  Point,  and  had  come  back  to  the 
two  miles  of  paved  boulevard  that  joined  Moneta  Val- 
ley and  the  town.  The  sun  was  bright,  and  the  breeze 
cool  and  sweet,  bearing  the  faint  salty  tang  of  the 
ocean,  but  Paquita  had  sat  silent  and  sleepy-eyed, 
oblivious  to  its  enlivening  touch,  apparently  not  even 
listening  to  Mrs.  Silence's  and  Kate's  conversation. 
Kate  looked  better  than  she  had  for  days.  Their 
rapid  ride  through  the  sun  and  the  wind  had  brought 
a  pink  flush  to  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  very  soft 
as  they  rested  on  Paquita.  The  girl  lacked  her  vivid 

280 


The  Window  of  Hope 

color — a  touch  of  pallor  that  made  her  appear  dusky. 
It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Silence  that  she  grew  more  quiet 
and  sleepy-eyed  with  every  day  that  passed.  The 
girl  puzzled  her ;  it  was  so  rarely  that  she  showed  the 
slightest  animation. 

The  letter  that  she  had  handed  to  Kate  brought  a 
deeper  flush  to  Kate's  cheeks,  and  she  held  it  clasped 
closely  in  her  hands  as  they  turned  toward  home. 
Paquita  herself  seemed  to  have  received  a  vivifying 
touch  in  the  dirty  little  post-office.  Her  great  eyes 
were  wide,  the  color  aflame  in  her  cheeks.  She  looked 
up  to  the  mountains  that  showed  a  jagged  line  of 
darker  blue  against  the  azure  of  the  sky,  and  then 
out  over  the  undulating  world  of  water.  They  had 
left  the  ill-paved  and  unattractive  main  street  of  the 
town,  and  turned  into  a  side  street  that  brought  them 
out  to  the  boulevard  again.  They  were  close  to  the 
slope  of  beach,  and  the  gentle  swell  and  backward 
flow  of  the  ocean.  At  the  water-line  a  flock  of  tiny 
sandpipers  ran  backward  and  forward,  following  each 
receding  wave  in  quest  of  their  prey,  and  further  out 
several  pelicans  floated  lazily  on  the  breeze,  pausing 
at  intervals  to  drop  through  space,  a  headlong  plunge 
into  the  trough  of  a  wave. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  said  Paquita,  softly. 

Aunt  Silence  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  Kate 
smiled  happily.  "It  is  just  what  I  was  thinking," 
Kate  said.  "Paquita,  to-morrow  is  the  Fourth,  and 

281 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

there  will  be  a  dance  in  the  evening — would  you  like 
to  go?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  the  girl.  "I  haven't  danced 
for  ever  so  long.  I  could  dance  all  night."  The 
hand  against  her  breast  tightened  on  the  letter  be- 
neath it.  She  had  only  seen  and  recognized  the  writ- 
ing, and  thrust  it  into  the  bosom  of  her  dress;  it  lay 
with  one  sharp  corner  pricking  her  warm  skin.  When 
they  reached  home  she  would  fly  to  her  room.  She 
saw  the  patch  of  sunshine  on  the  floor;  she  would 
sit  in  it  and  be  happy. 

Aunt  Silence  had  made  a  pretty  accurate  guess  as 
to  the  authorship  of  Kate's  letter,  but  she  lacked  the 
key  to  Paquita's  look  of  joy.  Horton's  visit  had 
brought  an  aspect  of  relief  to  Kate's  worn  face,  and 
Mrs.  Silence  had  spent  two  days  of  intense  satisfac- 
tion. The  troubled  lift  of  brow  was  gone,  anil  the 
usual  upward  twitch  had  returned  to  her  mouth. 

' '  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  spend  the  Fourth  like 
a  Christian,  Kate,"  she  remarked. 

"That  depends  on  the  point  of  view,"  said  Kate, 
smiling  at  her. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Silence,  with  disapproval, 
"that  you  would  rather  collect  a  dozen  children  and 
retire  to  the  barnyard,  with  your  hands  to  your 
ears,  as  you  did  the  last  Fourth  of  July." 

"But  you  enjoyed  it,  Aunt  Silence,"  Kate  pro- 

282 


The  Window  of  Hope 

tested.  "You  know  you  did  until  the  chamois  swal- 
lowed the  package  of  fire-crackers." 

' '  It  was  a  dreadful  experience, ' '  said  Aunt  Silence, 
severely.  ' '  It  is  a  wonder  it  didn  't  kill  him. "  Kate 
laughed,  and  Underwood,  their  sedate  English  chauf- 
feur turned  an  attentive  ear.  He  took  a  deep  interest 
in  Mrs.  Silence's  menagerie,  as  did  every  servant  on 
the  place. 

"Hand  did  nothing  'appen  to  'im,  may  I  ask, 
mum?"  he  inquired. 

' '  I  was  anxious  enough,  Underwood,  I  assure  you, ' ' 
Aunt  Silence  said,  "until  it  occurred  to  me  that  pow- 
der won't  explode  if  it  is  damp.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  me  when  I  thought  of  that." 

"Yes,  mum,  indeed,  but  it  wouldn't  have  occurred 
to  me,  mum,"  Underwood  declared,  gravely. 

"The  goats  are  interesting,"  Mrs.  Silence  con- 
tinued, "but  I  don't  know  on  the  whole  that  I  am  not 
tired  of  them.  Mrs.  Herst-Hall  has  three  new  cats 
for  her  cattery  and  she  says  they  are  positively  fas- 
cinating. She  wants  me  to  come  and  see  them." 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Kate.  "I  know  the  symptoms! 
You  would  better  be  careful,  Aunt  Silence,  they  would 
eat  up  all  your  little  Muscovies." 

"Mira  Herst-Hall  says  her  cattery  is  very  expen- 
sive, the  cats  cost  so  much  when  they  have  to  be 
brought  from  abroad;  that  is  a  serious  consideration 
with  me,"  Aunt  Silence  declared. 

283 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"They're  dangerous  things,  mum,  in  my  opinion," 
Underwood  ventured,  respectfully.  "One  of  the 
nasty  beasts  scratched  Mrs.  Herst- 'all's  face  some- 
thing frightful,  they  say,  mum.  She  'ad  to  stay  away 
from  Mrs.  Peek's  dinner  last  night." 

"Did  the  Peeks  give  a  dinner  last  night?"  Aunt 
Silence  inquired,  with  interest. 

' '  It  was  an  hinf ormal  dinner  I  'card  them  say  last 
night  at  the  Club,  mum,  and  afterwards  they  all  come 
over  to  the  Club  to  dance.  I  'ad  stepped  over  for 
a  word  with  Mr.  Herst- 'all's  chauffeur,  and  they 
were  dancing  very  gay,  and  the  gentlemen  talking 
at  the  bar.  Mr.  Herst-  'all  'e  starts  the  bet,  mum,  that 
'e  could  cross  a  Muscovy  duck  hand  a  gray  goose,  and 
the  result  would  be  more  a  gosling  than  a  duckling, 
mum,  and  the  rest  took  it  up,  and  the  bets  run  high 
on  whether  it  would  honk  like  a  goose,  or  quack  like 
a  duck." 

"What  nonsense!"  Aunt  Silence  exclaimed.  "It 
isn't  possible!" 

"Nonsense  I  should  say,  mum!  But  Mr.  Herst- 
'all  'e  swore  'e  could  do  it,  and  they  all  took  sides, 
though  I  will  say,  mum,"  Underwood  continued, 
lowering  his  voice  for  Aunt  Silence's  ear,  "they  'ardly 
knew  just  what  they  was  about,  what  with  the  hin- 
formal  dinner  and  the  rest,  and  as  for  Mr.  Herst- 
'all,  mum,  and  Mr.  Litton,  they  did  be  'ave  something 
'orrible  " 

284 


The  Window  of  Hope 

Aunt  Silence  shook  her  head  disapprovingly  over 
most  of  Underwood's  narrative,  but  her  undertakings 
in  the  stable-yard  were  of  genuine  interest  to  her. 
"Do  you  think,  Underwood,  that  Herst-Hall  can  do 
what  he  said?"  she  inquired. 

"Hindeed  no,  mum,"  Underwood  assured  her. 
"I  think  there's  nothing  to  it,  mum.  I  never  'card 
of  such  a  thing. ' ' 

"I  intend  to  find  out,"  Aunt  Silence  said,  firmly. 
They  had  turned  into  their  own  driveway,  and  Pa- 
quita  was  out  of  the  machine  before  it  had  fairly 
stopped.  Kate  followed  more  deliberately,  but  Aunt 
Silence  remained  seated.  "I  think  I  shall  go  on  to 
the  Herst-Hall's, "  she  said. 

"I  judged  that  you  would  from  what  I  overheard 
of  your  conversation,"  Kate  replied,  much  amused. 
"But  don't  become  converted  to  the  cats,  dear, 
please." 

"We  shall  see,"  was  Aunt  Silence's  non-committal 
answer. 

Kate  had  gone  down  to  the  rock  on  the  beach,  for 
it  seemed  the  fitting  place  to  read  Horton's  letter. 
She  felt  an  absolute  certainty  that  it  would  bring  her 
only  comfort ;  the  quiet  strength  of  his  assurance  had 
entered  into  her.  She  had  hugged  it  to  her  in  the 
night,  and  carried  it  about  with  her  in  the  day.  She 
had  only  asked  that  she  might  have  her  child,  and  that 

285 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

they  might  dwell  together  in  peace ;  any  other  desire, 
however  vague  or  unconsciously  longed  for  she  had 
endeavored  to  set  aside ;  she  had  no  place  for  dreams 
in  the  future  before  her.  She  could  not  put  into 
words  the  gratitude  she  felt  to  the  man  who  had  come 
to  her  assistance ;  the  hot  tears  had  risen  in  her  eyes 
when  she  thought  of  her  utter  inability  of  expression. 
From  the  very  beginning  it  was  he  who  had  given, 
who  had  expended  himself  upon  her,  and  she  had  re- 
ceived it  all ;  there  was  no  return  she  could  make. 

She  opened  his  letter  and  held  the  closely  written 
sheets  tightly,  for  the  ocean  breeze  stirred  and  flut- 
tered them  in  her  hands.  She  read  quickly,  her  head 
bent,  but  before  she  reached  the  second  page  she 
stopped  and  closed  her  eyes,  grown  white  to  her  lips, 
swaying  a  little  as  she  sat.  Her  gaze  went  out  me- 
chanically to  the  water  that  glistened  and  heaved 
under  the  glare  of  white  light  that  dazed  her,  and 
made  her  clutch  the  bench  on  which  she  sat  for  sup- 
port. She  sat  gasping  and  shaking,  too  stunned  even 
for  understanding.  Then  it  came  over  her  gradually, 
the  joy  and  the  realization  of  what  his  words  meant, 
and  she  buried  her  face  in  the  rustling  papers  on  her 
knee.  "Ah,  my  God,  my  God!"  she  whispered. 
"Thou  hast  not  forsaken  me!"  The  rising  tears 
choked  her,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  could 
see  to  go  on,  but  as  she  read  the  sobs  caught  her 
breath,  and  she  stopped  to  wipe  the  tears  away.  She 

286 


The  Window  of  Hope 

finished  to  the  last  word  and  sat  with  a  full  heart. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  each  word  was  engraved  on  her 
memory,  still  she  must  go  back  to  them  and  read 
them  again  and  again. 

"Dear  Kate,"  Horton  wrote,  "it  is  very  late,  but 
I  can  think  of  nothing  but  you,  and  I  want  this  to 
reach  you  at  the  earliest  moment.  The  years  have 
been  long  to  you,  dear,  and  you  have  been  very  patient, 
but  you  can  lay  aside  the  burden  you  have  carried, 
and  come  into  your  own — I  know  no  one  who  de- 
serves happiness  more  than  you. 

"I  have  delayed  until  to-night,  for  I  wanted  to  be 
certain  of  several  things  before  I  wrote.  I  have  seen 
the  woman  at  the  Summit  Hill  house,  and  the  old 
Mexican,  Anita,  and  this  afternoon  I  saw  James.  I 
will  write  you  what  I  have  discovered  in  the  fewest 
words  I  can,  the  facts  speak  for  themselves.  On  the 
fifteenth  day  of  April,  1889,  James  Selwyn  Payne 
married  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  a  Spanish  girl,  Julietta 
Overa.  She  had  a  sister,  Inez,  and  this  Inez  is  the 
wretched  woman  who  has  been  for  the  last  three  years 
at  the  house  on  Summit  Hill.  She  has  spinal  trouble 
and  will  not  live  long.  I  think  she  has  suffered  ter- 
ribly— a  sort  of  dying  by  inches.  She  has  been  a 
bad  woman,  an  able  second  to  James  in  his  various 
undertakings  and  his  companion  for  years.  Just 
when  or  under  what  circumstances  the  connection  be- 
gan I  do  not  know,  but  it  is  certain  that  a  short  time 

287 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

after  James  left  New  Orleans  and  came  to  Los  An- 
geles, they  were  together.  Two  months  later  when 
he  went  to  British  Columbia  she  went  with  him,  and 
it  was  then  that  they  took  your  child  from  The 
Sisters'.  Four  years  afterwards  James  brought  the 
little  girl  back  and  placed  her  again  at  The  Sisters', 
then  later,  when  Inez's  illness  had  made  her  helpless, 
he  sent  her  to  the  Summit  Hill  house ;  it  was  a  cheap 
way  of  providing  for  Inez  as  well  as  Paquita.  It  is 
hard  to  judge  of  such  a  woman  as  Inez  Overa,  or  to 
say  just  what  name  should  be  given  to  an  attach- 
ment such  as  hers,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  through 
all  these  years,  and  under  every  vicissitude  she  has 
clung  devotedly  to  him.  I  think  also  that  of  all  the 
women  James  has  known,  she  is  the  only  one  to 
whom  he  has  shown  any  real  attachment  and  conse- 
quently it  is  characteristic  of  him  that  he  never  mar- 
ried her.  His  marriages  were  prompted  by  self- 
interest  alone,  the  emanations  of  his  restless,  plotting 
brain. 

"I  must  go  back  to  my  starting  point;  as  I  said, 
in  the  spring  of  1889  James  married  Julietta  Overa, 
and  three  years  later,  on  the  tenth  of  March,  1892, 
she  died.  In  August  of  the  same  year  you  and  he 
were  married  in  Philadelphia.  He  married  you  under 
the  name  of  James  Selwyn,  but  it  affects  the  legality 
of  the  marriage  not  at  all.  Feeling  as  you  do — do 
you  realize,  Kate,  what  this  means  to  you?  I  am 

288 


The  Window  of  Hope 

grateful  that  I  am  permitted  to  be  the  first  to  tell 
you — but  there  is  more.  In  1895,  in  King  County, 
"Washington,  James  Selwyn  obtained  a  divorce  from 
Katherine  Ashburton  on  the  ground  of  abandon- 
ment, stating  that  he  was  ignorant  of  your  where- 
abouts. Kate,  you  have  your  child,  and  you  are  as 
free  as  the  laws  of  this  country  can  make  you.  James 
will  leave  this  place  and  this  country — I  shall  never 
take  my  eyes  from  him  again.  Let  the  thought  of 
him  pass  out  of  your  mind.  He  is  of  my  blood  and  of 
my  name;  it  is  my  place  to  watch  over  him,  just  as 
it  would  be  were  he  insane — it  is  not  out  of  the  bounds 
of  possibility  that  he  is  so — the  line  between  insanity 
and  depravity  is  indistinctly  marked,  and  who  is  to 
say  where  the  one  ends  and  the  other  begins.  .  .  . 
I  shall  care  for  Inez  Overa — it  will  be  only  a  very, 
short  time  for  her. 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  in  me  to  say  it — you  will 
never  know  how  difficult  it  has  been — but  love  is 
spelled  in  more  ways  than  one,  and  your  happiness 
has  come  to  be  far  more  to  me  than  any  thought  of 
my  own.  When  the  man  you  love  comes  to  you  again, 
don't  refuse  him.  Like  me  you  have  lost  fifteen  years 
of  the  essential  joy  of  life,  the  only  happiness  that 
means  anything — no,  I  will  modify  that,  I  have 
learned  to  do  so  in  these  last  few  days — but  still,  it 
is  the  best  part  of  life,  and  Kate,  take  it  when  it  comes 
to  you  and  hold  it  close. 

19  289 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

"Before  I  stop,  I  want  to  make  a  confession  to 
you — I  think  that  somewhere  in  me  there  must  be  a 
drop  of  James  Payne's  blood.  When  you  told  me 
your  name,  Ashburton,  I  knew  where  I  had  heard  it. 
I  had  known  the  circumstance  of  the  divorce,  and  had 
always  supposed  it  was  the  name  of  the  girl  James 
had  married  in  Mexico.  I  had  heard  in  the  most  in- 
definite way  of  that  marriage,  for  it  was  after  my 
mother's  death,  and  I  had  severed  all  connection  with 
James.  I  knew  of  no  other  marriage.  It  was  years 
afterwards  that  I  was  called  upon  to  interfere  with 
some  plans  of  his,  in  a  manner  that  put  him  at  my 
mercy,  and  gave  me  an  effective  weapon  against  him, 
and  it  was  then  that  he  told  me  of  the  divorce.  He 
told  me  that  his  wife  had  been  a  Miss  Ashburton,  and 
the  name  stayed  in  my  memory.  As  you  sat  there 
beside  me  the  thought  had  grown  in  me  that  by  serv- 
ing you  I  might  win  from  your  gratitude  what  you 
refused  to  another ;  it  took  hold  of  me,  the  possibility 
— I  could  not  part  with  hope,  Kate.  Then  you  told 
me  your  name,  and  a  whole  set  of  circumstances  was 
clear  to  me;  James  had  merely  practised  a  further 
deceit  upon  you.  You  were  as  free  as  air,  you  could 
love  and  marry  whom  you  wished;  you  would  turn 
to  the  arms  of  the  man  you  loved,  and  the  devil  rose 
in  me — I  could  keep  you  ignorant  for  a  time,  and  try 
to  win  you  for  myself.  It  was  a  thought  worthy  of 
James ;  it  took  form  in  my  mind — and  vanished,  in  the 

290 


The  Window  of  Hope 

space  of  a  few  burning  moments.  I  bid  you  good-by, 
dear,  when  I  asked  you  to  kiss  me.  As  long  as  I  live  I 
shall  remember  that  last  sight  and  touch  of  you — it 
was  worth  my  thirty-eight  unsatisfactory  years.  I  am 
a  far  better  man  for  having  known  you,  Kate,  you 
have  filled  my  heart  and  made  me  indifferent  to  much 
that  might  have  tempted  me,  and  with  the  memory 
of  you  that  I  shall  cherish,  I  shall  be  able  to  live 
out  my  time.  If  you  ever  need  me  you  know  how 
to  find  me,  but  I  think  it  would  be  better  for  me  to 
step  out  of  your  life.  I  have  the  strength  to  write 
this,  but  not  to  see  you.  Kate,  I  beg  you  to  be  happy. 
That  is  the  greatest  joy  you  can  give  me  now,  and  the 
last  thing  I  ask  of  you.  With  all  my  love  and  a 
prayer  for  your  welfare, 

HORTON  PAYNE." 

Kate  folded  the  sheets  at  last,  and  held  them  in 
her  lap,  her  lips  trembling,  her  eyes  wide.  "  'Kate, 
I  beg  you  to  be  happy, '  ' '  she  repeated  in  a  low  voice, 
"  'I  beg  you  to  be  happy.'  '  And  he  who  had  done 
all  this  for  her?  It  was  a  very  passion  of  gratitude 
that  swept  over  her.  Her  cheeks  had  burned  in  the 
night  at  the  thought  of  the  caress  she  had  so  unhesi- 
tatingly given  him.  It  was  prompted  by  the  ache  of 
pity  she  had  felt — the  longing  to  give  just  a  little 
happiness  when  she  was  forced  to  withhold  so  much. 
She  felt  glad  of  her  impulse  now.  The  real  integrity 

291 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

of  the  man,  the  triumph  of  his  love  over  passion, 
touched  the  innermost  cord  of  sympathy  in  her.  It 
impressed  her  so  powerfully  that  for  the  moment  it 
held  in  abeyance  the  consciousness  of  her  own  joy. 
The  capacity  to  expend  herself  on  another,  to  set 
aside  self,  had  been  fostered  in  her  by  those  years 
of  loneliness  until  it  had  become  a  vital  part  of  her. 
She  recognized  the  same  quality  in  Horton  with  a 
warm  throb  of  understanding.  She  had  grown  to 
trust  him,  and  her  gratitude  to  him  was  boundless, 
but  as  she  pondered  his  letter  she  granted  to  him  the 
highest  degree  of  respect;  he  had  passed  at  a  stride 
into  the  innermost  place  of  confidence  and  esteem. 

It  was  a  long  moment  before  she  turned  to  the  con- 
templation of  her  own  happiness.  Paquita  was  her 
very  own,  beyond  the  possibility  of  interference,  the 
paramount  desire  of  her  heart  granted.  She  held 
the  knowledge  to  her,  and  dwelt  on  it,  fearful 
of  turning  her  thoughts  from  it  to  that  other  joy 
that  was  beginning  to  clamor  for  recognition.  Aunt 
Silence  had  judged  rightly  of  her  when  she  said  that 
Kate's  capacity  for  maternal  tenderness  was  the  real 
foundation  of  her  love  for  Allison.  He  had  appealed 
to  her  irresistibly.  He  had  struggled  out  of  a  hard 
and  unlovely  boyhood,  grappling  bravely  with  the 
difficulties  that  beset  him.  He  had  held  doggedly 
to  his  ambitions  and  had  worked  steadily  and  deter- 
minedly in  the  furtherance  of  them.  Xo  woman  had 

292 


The  Window  of  Hope 

ever  given  Allison  any  sort  of  understanding  sym- 
pathy until  he  met  Kate,  and  he  received  eagerly  and 
gratefully  the  interest  and  sympathy  she  gave  him. 
His  desire  for  appreciation  and  protective  tenderness 
appealed  powerfully  to  Kate 's  unsatisfied  motherhood. 
In  the  beginning  Allison  had  not  demanded  more  of 
her  than  interest,  sympathy,  and  friendship,  all  of 
which  Kate  had  given  willingly.  It  had  been  the  one 
happiness  of  the  last  four  years,  this  joy  of  lavishing 
upon  someone  the  watchful  tenderness  that  welled  up 
in  her.  It  would  have  been  almost  impossible  for  any 
man  to  see  Kate  frequently  and  intimately  without 
being  strongly  attracted,  and  Allison  soon  came  to 
demand  more  of  her  than  mere  friendship.  She  had 
endeavored  to  hold  him  in  check,  but  Allison  was  not 
of  the  type  that  believes  in  impossibilities  and  he  had 
determinedly  and  constantly  pleaded  his  love  and  his 
need  of  her.  Outwardly  she  had  stood  firm,  but  in 
her  innermost  consciousness  she  had  yielded  to  him. 
In  reality  she  had  been  struggling  for  years  against 
a  longing  for  the  natural  relations  of  life,  the  wish 
for  husband  and  children — the  essentials  of  a  home. 
Allison's  forceful  and  attractive  personality,  and  her 
firm  conviction  of  his  absolute  devotion  to  her,  and 
above  all  his  appeal  to  the  maternal  and  protective 
in  her,  had  weakened  the  pride  that  shrank  from  re- 
vealing to  any  one  her  misfortune,  as  well  as  her  vivid 
remembrance  of  suffering,  and  the  instinctive  timidity 

293 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

and  distrust  that  her  bitter  experience  had  bred  in 
her.  Kate  had  gradually  come  to  centre  every  interest 
of  her  life  in  Allison.  She  had  the  faculty  of  ideal- 
izing character  that  belongs  in  particular  to  women  in 
whom  the  instinct  of  motherhood  is  strong,  and  Kate 
had  woven  into  her  conception  of  Allison  the  quali- 
ties that  she  most  admired.  It  was  a  revival  of  the 
ruined  dream  of  her  girlhood  rather  than  the  un- 
awakened  passion  of  her  ripe  womanhood. 

Horton's  advent  and  the  painful  recollections  it 
aroused  had  forced  her  thoughts  back  into  their  old 
channels,  and  the  intense  happiness,  and  the  anxieties 
of  the  last  few  weeks  had  for  the  time  driven  out 
every  other  emotion.  Her  child  was  given  to  her, 
she  could  love  her,  care  for  her — it  was  the  gratifica- 
tion of  her  innermost  desire,  the  craving  that  under- 
lay every  other  emotion,  even  her  love  for  Allison. 
Holding  close  to  her  this  greatest  of  joys,  she  turned 
timidly  to  consider  the  other  possibility.  "Kate, 
when  the  man  you  love  comes  to  you  again,  don't 
refuse  him — like  me  you  have  lost  years  of  the  essen- 
tial joy  of  life — take  it  when  it  comes  to  you  and  hold 
it  close."  Was  it  possible  that  that  also  was  in  store 
for  her — that  rounding  out  and  completion  of  her 
life?  The  sense  of  freedom,  the  possibility  of  yield- 
ing to  happiness  without  questioning  and  doubt,  the 
desires  that  she  had  beaten  back  and  repressed,  laid 
their  hold  upon  her,  and  she  sat  for  the  moment 
quivering  and  breathless. 

204 


XIV. 

MAN  PROPOSES 

A  CHILL  breath  from  the  shadow  of  the  bank 
behind  her  woke  Kate  from  her  long  reverie.  The 
sun  was  sinking  into  a  bank  of  haze,  its  dulled  light 
turning  the  world  of  water  to  a  milky  opal,  shot  with 
green.  It  was  evening  and  she  had  sat  long  hours 
through,  unmindful  of  the  immediate  present,  forget- 
ful of  Paquita  and  the  hours  she  had  left  her  to  spend 
alone. 

She  caught  up  the  papers  in  her  lap,  and  hastened 
up  the  narrow  path  behind  her.  She  sought  Hop  in 
the  kitchen.  "Missee  Silence,  she  stay  'way  to  din- 
ner," Hop  announced.  "She  telephone  long  time 
ago."  Evidently  she  had  found  the  Herst-Halls 
diverting.  Hop  had  not  seen  Paquita. 

Kate  went  to  her  own  room  and  put  Horton's 
letter  away  with  a  careful  hand,  then  crossing  the  hall 
knocked  on  Paquita 's  door.  There  was  no  answer,  so 
she  turned  the  handle  and  looked  in.  The  room  had 
been  her  own,  and  as  it  had  the  best  outlook  of  any  in 
the  house,  Kate  had  given  it  to  the  girl.  It  was 
softly  tinted  in  blue  and  gold  and  white,  one  wide 
latticed  window  giving  on  the  ocean,  another  com- 
manding a  magnificent  view  of  the  upward  slope  of 
valley  and  the  mountains  beyond. 

295 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

On  the  wide  bed  Paquita  lay  prone,  dressed  just 
as  she  had  been  for  their  drive,  her  hat  lying  beside 
her.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  the  curve  of  her  arm, 
and  against  the  white  counterpane  her  mass  of  hair 
looked  very  black.  There  was  something  in  the  limp- 
ness of  her  attitude  that  sent  a  chill  over  Kate.  "Pa- 
quita, are  you  asleep?"  she  asked,  softly.  The  girl 
stirred  a  little,  but  did  not  answer.  "You  are  not  ill, 
are  you,  dear?"  Kate  asked,  as  she  bent  over  her. 
She  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  fright,  she  did  not  know 
why. 

Paquita  slowly  drew  herself  up  to  her  elbow,  and 
looked  at  Kate  without  speaking.  Her  eyes  were 
quite  dull  and  almost  half  closed,  her  face  without 
a  trace  of  color.  "You  are  ill!"  Kate  exclaimed, 
startled  by  her  appearance.  "Paquita,  dear,  what 
is  it — your  head  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Paquita,  very  low. 

"You  poor  child!"  Kate  said  in  quick  self-re- 
proach,— "and  I  left  you  alone  all  afternoon.  Let 
me  help  you  take  off  your  dress,  dear, — and  this  tight 
collar.  You  would  rather  go  to  bed  wouldn  't  you  ? ' ' 

Paquita  did  not  answer,  but  she  raised  an  aimless 
hand  to  the  throat  of  her  dress.  Kate's  fingers  were 
hastened  by  anxiety,  and  she  quickly  loosened  the 
girl's  clothes,  and  brought  her  nightdress  from  the 
closet.  When  Paquita  was  ready  she  crept  between 
the  covers  and  curled  up  like  a  sick  animal.  Kate 

296 


Man  Proposes 

smoothed  the  pillow  and  bent  over  her  to  remove 
the  pins  that  held  her  heavy  hair,  kissing  her  gently 
as  she  did  so.  "Is  your  head  so  very  bad?  When 
did  you  first  feel  ill,  dear  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"After  the  drive,"  said  Paquita,  dully. 

"What  do  you  think  brought  it  on?" 

The  girl  closed  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  suffering, 
shrinking  from  the  cool  hand  Kate  had  laid  on  her 
forehead.  "I  don't  know," — she  spoke  scarcely 
above  a  whisper, — "I  was  in  the  sun  this 
morning " 

"I  thought  you  looked  pale  when  we  were  driv- 
ing," Kate  said.  "I  will  get  you  some  headache 
powder  I  have,  but  I  think  I  would  better  telephone 
for  the  doctor " 

"Oh,  no !"  Paquita  cried,  sharply.  "I  don't  want 
him.  If  you  will  bring  me  the  powder  I  will  sleep — 
if  nobody  comes  to  talk  to  me  I  will  go  to  sleep — the 
pain  will  stop  then."  There  was  a  note  of  such 
intense  irritation  in  her  voice  that  Kate  brought  her 
the  powder  in  silence.  Paquita  took  it  without  saying 
anything  more,  but  when  the  elder  woman  bent  to 
kiss  her,  she  said,  "Thank  you,"  in  her  dull  voice. 

' '  If  you  do  not  sleep  you  will  call  me,  won 't  you  ? ' ' 
Kate  begged.  She  felt  much  as  if  the  girl  had  thrust 
her  away  with  an  impatient  hand,  and  her  heart 
ached,  yet  her  anxiety  would  not  let  her  go.  "If 

297 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

you  would  let  me  sit  here  with  you  I  would  keep  very 
quiet "  she  said,  hesitating. 

Paquita  moved  her  head  restlessly.  "It  would 
keep  me  awake,"  she  said,  less  irritably,  but  with  a 
note  of  insistence.  "If  you  would  shut  the  door — 
please — when  you  go." 

Kate  arranged  the  windows  so  as  to  avoid  a 
draught,  and  stole  softly  out  of  the  room.  The 
sunshine  of  her  brilliant  day  was  clouded.  The 
strain  of  the  last  weeks,  and  the  sudden  relief  and 
vivid  joy  of  the  afternoon,  followed  by  this  sense  of 
hurt  anxiety,  was  beginning  to  show  itself  in  a  ner- 
vous trembling  and  a  desire  to  weep.  Kate  fought 
the  weakness  bravely;  Paquita  might  be  really  ill, 
there  was  the  night  before  her,  and  it  was  no  time 
now  to  give  way.  She  must  wait  a  little  and  see 
whether  the  girl  slept  or  whether  she  was  as  ill  as 
she  looked. 

She  went  to  the  furthest  corner  of  the  glazed 
porch,  and  shook  her  head  when  Hop  came  to  her. 
"Only  a  cup  of  coffee,"  she  said.  "I  am  not  coming 
in;  bring  it  to  me  here.  Miss  Paquita  is  not  feeling 
well,  and  will  not  want  anything  now."  As  Kate 
was  not  Mrs.  Silence,  Hop  obeyed  her  without  com- 
ment, but  he  grunted  his  disapproval  as  he  removed 
the  fast  cooling  dinner  to  the  kitchen.  He  reflected 
that  there  had  been  no  real  comfort  in  the  house 
since  that  quiet,  dark-eyed  girl  had  appeared. 

293 


Man  Proposes 

It  had  grown  chilly  with  the  coming  of  evening, 
and  Kate  drew  her  warm  shawl  closely  about  her. 
She  would  wait  half  an  hour  and  then  see  if  Paquita 
slept.  She  reproached  herself  for  her  afternoon's 
forgetfulness.  The  dream  into  which  Horton's  last 
words  had  plunged  her  appeared  unreal  enough  now. 
Such  a  thing  might  be  possible  in  the  future — a  long 
way  in  the  future— but  her  immediate  concern  would 
be  to  win  the  love  and  confidence  of  her  child.  The 
scene  of  a  few  moments  before  brought  home  to  her 
forcibly  how  really  she  and  Paquita  were  strangers. 
She  passed  in  review  all  she  knew  of  Paquita 's  child- 
hood, and  the  last  two  or  three  years  of  her  girlhood, 
and  her  mother's  heart  melted  in  pity  for  the  girl. 
How  much  there  would  be  to  undo!  What  infinite 
patience,  skill,  and  tenderness  would  have  to  be  hers  I 
The  blood  came  in  her  cheeks  with  the  warmer  heart- 
beat of  resolve.  She  had  the  taint  of  heredity  most 
probably,  certainly  the  slow  but  effective  influence 
of  early  surroundings  to  eradicate,  but  difficult 
as  her  task  appeared  she  was  unafraid;  love  would 
conquer.  The  mere  joy  of  personal  gratification  sank 
below  her  horizon.  When  she  could  hold  Paquita 
cheek  to  cheek,  with  no  shadow  between  them,  then 
perhaps  it  would  be  time  for  her  to  seek  an  added 
happiness.  She  rose  from  her  place  in  the  sheltered 
corner,  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down,  the  trouble 
in  her  face  smoothed  away.  How  much,  how  infin- 

299 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

itely  much  she  had  for  which  to  be  grateful!  Her 
afternoon  in  the  ruined  garden  came  back  to  her; 
the  little  brilliantly  decorated  arbor,  and  the  gay 
sunlight  on  the  white  buildings  far  beyond  the  arroyo ; 
the  awakened  womanhood  in  Paquita's  languorous 
eyes,  and  the  sharp  pain  of  understanding  that  had 
caught  her  own  breath  at  realization  of  it.  "What 
might  not  a  few  more  months  of  neglect  and  ill  sur- 
roundings have  brought  to  the  girl — and  she  had  been 
given  to  her  in  time ! 

Kate  went  softly  into  the  hall  and  opened  Pa- 
quita's door  with  the  greatest  care.  The  light  in  the 
room  was  dim,  and  she  came  cautiously  to  the  bedside, 
far  enough  to  see  Paquita's  features.  She  lay  per- 
fectly still,  and  her  breathing  was  regular,  as  one  in 
deep  sleep.  Kate  stole  out  again  with  a  great  sense 
of  relief.  She  could  plan  without  the  sharp  edge  of 
anxiety  that  the  fear  of  illness  had  given  her  thoughts. 
She  took  up  her  steady  walk,  back  and  forth,  on  the 
soft  matting  of  the  porch.  In  the  strain  of  the  last 
weeks  she  had  had  no  opportunity  to  plan  for  Pa- 
quita;  she  had  been  too  much  overshadowed  by  fear 
and  dread,  but  she  could  face  the  future  now,  unham- 
pered. She  would  take  Paquita  away  from  their 
present  surroundings  for  a  time.  She  would  take 
her  to  Los  Angeles  and  give  her  every  advantage  that 
the  place  afforded.  She  had  learned  Paquita's  apti- 
tude for  music,  and  even  her  proficiency  in  dancing 

300 


Man  Proposes 

might  be  utilized  as  an  added  interest.  Mrs.  Silence's 
home  and  her  social  prestige  were  at  their  service. 
Kate  was  not  alone  in  judging  that  their  present  sur- 
roundings offered  but  little  for  a  young  girl.  There 
were  too  few  of  her  own  kind  and  age,  and  the  social 
atmosphere  was  too  vitiated  for  the  healthy  lungs 
of  youth.  Kate  had  lived  in  open  indifference  to  it, 
but  her  attitude  must  of  necessity  change  were  she 
chaperoning  a  girl  like  Paquita.  She  considered 
thoughtfully  all  the  new  interests  she  could  bring  into 
Paquita 's  life,  and  she  was  woman  of  the  world 
enough  to  know  how  much  she  could  accomplish  for 
the  girl.  Freed  from  annoyance,  capable  of  coming 
and  going  at  will,  backed  by  social  position  and  wealth, 
what  was  there  she  could  not  accomplish?  Paquita 
would  not  be  normal  if  she  did  not  give  her  affection 
in  return.  At  this  point  a  thought  that  had  been  in 
the  background  of  her  mind  presented  itself.  She 
would  be  nearer  to  Allison,  and  he  would  enter  in  a 
way  into  their  daily  life.  He  would  come  naturally 
to  an  understanding  of  Paquita 's  real  relationship  to 
her,  and  her  devotion  to  her  child's  interests.  There 
was  no  reason  when  the  right  time  came  why  she 
should  not  speak  openly  to  him;  she  knew  that  like 
Horton  he  must  have  wondered  and  tried  to  explain 
her  to  himself.  But  she  would  not  be  hurried  into 
other  interests,  or  unlock  her  lips  until  she  accom- 
plished her  first  and  greatest  desire.  Even  if  he 

301 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

were  beside  her  now,  she  would  keep  silent,  though  she 
might  not  be  able  to  hide  from  him  that  her  attitude 
had  changed. 

She  had  passed  in  her  slow  walk  into  the  sheltered 
corner  again  and  the  smothered  roar  of  the  water, 
and  her  own  movements  had  deadened  the  sound  of 
quick  steps  on  the  walk  below.  When  she  turned  a 
dark  figure  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  as  if 
in  answer  to  her  thoughts  a  questioning  voice  said, 
"Kate?" 

She  drew  a  sharp  breath  of  surprise.  "Richard — 
you!"  she  exclaimed. 

He  came  quickly  to  her.  "Did  I  startle  you?" 
he  asked.  He  took  her  mechanically .  outstretched 
hand  and  gave  it  his  usual  warm  pressure.  ' '  I  got  in 
— back  from  the  East — an  hour  ago,  and  I  drove  right 
over.  I  wanted  to  see  you,  if  only  for  an  hour  or 
two.  I  have  to  go  early  in  the  morning." 

"Have  you  had  dinner?"  Kate  asked.  She  was 
conquering  the  shock  that  had  sent  the  blood  to  her 
face. 

"Yes,  on  the  train.  Don't  stand,  Kate — are  you 
feeling  better?  Aunt  Silence  said  in  her  letter  that 
you  were  not  well.  I  have  been  worrying  over  it  all 
the  way  across  the  continent. ' '  With  the  quick  move- 
ments natural  to  him,  he  had  drawn  up  a  seat,  and 
put  a  cushion  at  her  back.  Close  as  he  was  to  her,  she 
could  not  see  his  face  distinctly,  but  his  whole  manner 

302 


Man  Proposes 

breathed  even  more  than  the  usual  degree  of  nervous 
vitality  that  was  one  of  his  distinguishing  character- 
istics. 

"I  am  quite  well,"  said  Kate.  "Aunt  Silence  is 
apt  to  worry  about  me  without  any  reason." 

"I  wish  I  could  see  you  better,"  Allison  said,  as 
he  bent  over  her.  ' '  I  should  soon  know  which  of  you 
is  the  most  truthful.  Kate,  I  wonder  if  you  have  any 
idea  what  it  is  like  on  the  desert  just  now — and  in  the 
East.  This  coolness  is  like  heaven  after  it.  If  I  ever 
lacked  in  love  for  my  marvellous  State,  I  only  needed 
this  last  month 's  experience  to  shame  me.  Baltimore, 
New  York,  Boston — I  spent  my  time  fleeing  before  a 
hot  wave. ' ' 

"But  it  did  you  good,  Richard?  You  have  not 
had  a  holiday  for  a  Icng  time." 

' '  I  suppose  it  did, ' '  Allison  said,  with  a  change  in 
his  wonderfully  flexible  voice.  "I  had  reached  a 
shaky  ledge  in  my  mountain  climbing,  when  I  must 
either  at  once  go  down,  or  go  up — or  so  it  seemed  to 
me.  I  needed  a  moment  to  get  my  breath,  and  think. 
Kate,  you  go  on  your  quiet  way  with  your  mind 
already  made  up — and  a  steady  purpose.  I  wonder  if 
you  know  anything  about  a  man's  vacillations  and 
where  they  will  lead  him  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  Kate  said,  "but,  Richard, 
you  have  less  of  that  quality  than  most.  I  have  often 
admired  your  singleness  of  purpose.  It  is  not  what 

303 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

one  is  tempted  to  do — it  is  what  one  does  that  counts. ' ' 
He  moved  restlessly.  "Yes,"  he  said,  his  voice 
dropping  to  its  deep  note,  "but  one  questions  one's 
motives.  ...  I  have  reached  a  sort  of  parting  in 
the  ways,  and  I  have  spent  the  last  weeks  in  deciding 
that  I  am  not  going  to  loosen  my  hold  on  convictions 
that  have  guided  me  from  the  beginning.  I  have 
aimed  for  what  seemed  to  me  the  best — the  things 
most  worth  having,  and  I  can  afford  to  brush  aside  a 
sentimentality,  to  say  nothing  of  what  appeals  merely 
to  the  least  admirable  in  me.  .  .  .  Kate,  you  are 
the  highest  ideal  I  have  ever  had — I  have  always 
turned  to  the  thought  of  you  as  the  best  thing  in  my 
life,  and,  oh,  Kate  why  won't  you  listen  to  me,  and 
come  to  me  ?  I  have  sat  at  your  feet  so  long !  There 
never  was  a  man  who  needed  just  your  influence  more 
than  I  do.  You  know  I  love  you — the  only  part  of 
me  that's  worth  having  loves  you — I  shall  drop  to 
something  inadequate  without  you.  You  have  done 
so  much  for  me  that  I  can  never  find  words  to  thank 
you,  and  I  am  begging  you  again  to  do  the  greatest 

of  all  things  for  me "    Kate  left  her  hands  in 

his  clasp,  but  she  did  not  answer.  His  words  had 
come  quickly,  easily,  the  fluent  speech  of  a  man  who 
has  instant  expression  at  his  command.  It  was  a 
gift  that  had  marked  him  out  in  his  profession  and 
was  as  natural  as  the  man  himself,  as  varied  as  his 
complex  moods,  as  brilliant  as  his  quickly  formed 

304 


Man  Proposes 

thoughts,  but  interwoven  with  it  all  was  a  nervous 
stress,  a  certain  desperation  that  was  new  to  Kate. 
It  was  as  if  he  were  urged  by  strong  necessity,  and 
its  appeal  to  her  was  powerful,  far  more  so  than  any 
other  he  could  have  made.  Her  love  was  compounded 
of  the  very  qualities  that  answered  immediately  to 
such  an  appeal.  She  clung  firmly  to  her  determina- 
tion of  the  earlier  evening — for  she  had  decided  when 
she  was  uninfluenced  by  the  emotion  that  took  hold 
upon  her  now — but  it  came  to  her  with  a  flood  of 
joy  that  she  need  not  withhold  the  secret  she  had 
guarded  so  long.  "Whatever  she  might  have  to  ask 
of  his  patience  in  the  future,  she  was  free  now  to  give 
him  the  one  great  assurance.  She  held  back  breath- 
less, and  still  silent. 

"Kate,"  Allison  urged,  "haven't  you  a  single 
word  for  me?  If  you  say  no  to  me  to-night — I  don't 
know  which  way  I  shall  turn — yes,  I  do  know,  but 
then  I  would  not  be  fit  to  come  to  you.  Kate,  haven't 
you  a  word  for  me  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Kate,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  have — if  you 
can  be  patient."  She  had  spoken  almost  without  her 
volition.  She  had  scarcely  heard  what  he  was  say- 
ing ;  in  the  rush  of  her  own  feelings  she  received  only 
a  blurred  impression. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked.  He  gripped 
her  hands  and  turned  her  toward  him  a  little  so  he 
could  look  into  her  eyes. 

20  305 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

She  returned  his  look  gravely.  She  had  spoken, 
and  did  not  regret  her  impulse,  but  Kate  had  an  in- 
stinct for  honesty,  and  no  wish  to  deceive.  "I  mean 
this,  Dick,"  she  said.  "Ever  since  I  have  known 
you  I  have  not  felt  that  I  was  free  to — to  think  about 
love — or  free  to  encourage  you  in  caring  for  me.  I 
have  always  tried  to  make  that  plain  to  you 

"You  have  indeed,"  Allison  said,  with  some  bit- 
terness, "and  I  decided  long  ago  that  you  had  suffered 
some  terrible  disappointment  back  in  the  time  before 
I  first  knew  you,  that  made  you  cold  to  any  man's 
pleading,  but,  Kate,  can  you  mean  that  at  last — 

"I  have  wanted  to  be  honest  with  you,"  said  Kate, 
interrupting  his  eagerness,  "but  it  has  not  always 
been  easy," — her  lips  began  to  tremble — "as  far  as  I 
can,  I  want  to  be  honest  with  you  now.  There  was  a 
set  of  circumstances  that  constrained  me,  over  which 
I  had  no  control — when  I  can  I  will  tell  you  what  they 
were — I  do  not  feel  that  I  could  to-night — but  in  a 
measure  I  am  free  to  think  and  act  more  naturally. 
That  is  why  I  said  if  you  would  be  patient 

"You  mean  it  will  be  possible  for  you  to  love  me — 
to  marry  me?"  he  said,  abruptly.  "Kate,  do  you 
mean — you  mean  you  have  loved  me — you  love  me 
now?"  His  voice  had  dropped  suddenly  to  a  whis- 
per. Kate  found  no  words,  and  turning  he  put  his 
arm  about  her,  drawing  her  to  him  until  his  head 
rested  on  her  shoulder.  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me 

306 


Man  Proposes 

before  ? "  he  said,  passionately.  ' '  Oh,  Kate,  why  didn  't 
you!"  His  forehead  was  hot  against  her  cheek,  and 
the  arm  about  her  shook.  Forceful  and  determined 
though  he  was,  Kate  had  more  than  once  before  had 
the  feeling  that  she  was  his  elder  in  experience  and 
insight — it  had  much  to  do  with  the  quality  of  her 
affection  for  him — but  she  had  never  seen  him  like 
this,  and  while  it  aroused  wonder  in  her,  it  served  to 
give  her  a  certain  poise.  She  lifted  her  hand  touch- 
ing his  cheek  gently. 

"You  will  be  patient — and  wait  for  me,  Dick?" 

"I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,"  he 
said,  his  lips  against  her  cheek. 

She  drew  herself  away,  and  he  did  not  attempt 
to  hold  her,  but  returned  to  his  query  of  the  moment 
before.  "But,  Kate,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  before 
that — that  this  was  possible?"  He  was  regaining 
more  of  his  usual  manner. 

"I  told  you — I  have  not  felt  free.  You  cannot 
understand,  Dick,  and  I  cannot  explain  in  a  few 

words "  She  stopped  with  a  sudden  sinking  of 

the  heart  that  was  almost  faintness  at  the  thought 
of  retelling  all  that  wretched  story,  and  to  tell  only  a 
part  was  not  possible — she  could  not  do  it  then.  She 
had  spoken  to  Horton  under  tremendous  pressure,  and 
driven  by  terror.  Allison's  love  must  be  strong 
enough  to  give  her  time.  "  It  is  all  so  painful  to  me, ' ' 
she  continued,  "though  I  can  look  back  and  feel  that 

307 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

I  am  not  to  blame  for  the  wretchedness  in  it.  If  I 
were  I  should  never  have  let  you  ask  me  if  I  loved  you. 
I  want  you  to  know  all  about  what  my  difficulties 
have  been,  and  because  you  love  me  you  can  help  me, 
but  I  cannot  talk  about  it  to-night — when  I  am  happy. 
I  want  you  to  consider  if  you  are  ready  to  wait  until 
I  can  be  perfectly  open  with  you.  It  is  not  just  my- 
self I  am  thinking  of,  or  I  would  not  be  acting  as  I  am. 
I  don't  ask  you  to  try  and  understand  me — only  let 
things  rest  as  they  were  until  you  do  understand — 
fully." 

"They  cannot  rest  where  they  were,"  Allison  said, 
quickly.  "You  have  confessed  that  you  love  me — 
and,  you  are  going  to  marry  me,  Kate.  I  don't  know 
what  all  this  is  that  is  worrying  you,  but  it  does  not 
bother  me ;  it  never  has.  You  never  knowingly  did  a 
wrong  thing  in  your  life,  and  you  are  supersensitive — 
I  have  read  you  accurately  in  that,  for  I  know  some- 
thing of  human  nature.  You  can  tell  me  anything 
you  wish  whenever  you  are  ready,  but  I  didn't  know 
until  to-night  that  you  could  love  me,  and  I  am  not 
going  to  let  you  go  back  of  that,  or  escape  me  now — 
I  need  you  too  badly. ' '  His  voice  was  sharp,  alarmed, 
every  vestige  of  the  humility  of  the  moment  before 
gone.  In  a  way  Kate  liked  it,  and  her  head  lifted. 

' '  I  have  no  wish  to  go  back  of  it, ' '  she  said,  clearly. 
"After  all  this  time  that  you  have  been  devoted  to 
me,  it  is," — her  voice  dropped — "I  am  glad  to  tell 

308 


Man  Proposes 

you  that  much  truth.  But,  Richard,  I  have  not  prom- 
ised  to  marry  you,  and  I  will  not  promise  or  bind  you 
or  myself  in  any  way  until  I  know  that  I  am  doing 
what  is  right  to  you — and  others.  "When  I  am  sure 
of  that,  there  shall  not  be  a  thought  even  of  mine  that 
I  shall  not  be  willing  to  give  into  your  keeping." 
Her  manner  had  the  air  of  finality  that  Allison  knew 
well. 

"I  must  be  satisfied  with  that,  for  a  time."  He 
lifted  his  shoulders,  drawing  a  quick  breath.  "You 
have  granted  me  so  much  more  than  I  dared  hope  for, 
and  I  have  something  to  hold  to  now  you  love  me. 
You  would  not  'have  a  thought  that  you  would  not 
give  into  my  keeping, '  ' ' — his  voice  held  a  note  of  deep 
feeling — "Kate,  there  are  not  many  men  who  could 
say  that  truthfully.  I  never  realized  until  to-night 
how  fine  you  are — I  am  a  poor  thing  beside  you.  I 
wish  I  were  worthy  of  you."  He  lifted  her  hands, 
kissing  them  tenderly. 

Kate  looked  down  on  his  bent  head  with  a  sense  of 
something  curiously  like  pain.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
he  had  had  his  years  of  manhood  to  live  through — 
just  as  others  she  knew.  She  believed  that  on  the 
whole  he  had  lived  them  cleanly,  and  it  should  be 
enough  for  her.  Perhaps  he  intended  to  tell  her  that 
he  could  not  say  to  her  what  she  had  said  to  him, 
but  she  did  not  demand  it.  Was  her  love  not  great 
enough  for  faith?  She  was  silent,  and  certain  words 

309 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

shaped  themselves  in  her  mind,  "You  have  my  every 
thought,  my  innermost  desire — they  are  yours, 
utterly."  Why  should  they  come  to  her  at  this 
moment  ? 

Allison  was  speaking  again.  "Kate,  if  you  come 
to  me  I  shall  try  to  make  you  happy — and  I  need  you 
so!"  It  was  the  reiterated  plea  of  the  evening;  it 
had  always  been  his  plea,  and  Kate  did  not  answer 
in  words,  but  she  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  to  her  it 
was  a  pledge  of  her  loyalty.  Allison  held  it  tightly, 
and  they  sat  silent  for  a  long  time.  Kate  had  turned 
more  than  once  from  her  own  thoughts  to  listen  for 
any  sound  in  the  house,  but  there  was  perfect  quiet. 
Paquita  must  be  sleeping,  but  it  was  growing  late. 

"You  said  you  would  have  to  go  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, Dick,"  she  said  at  last. 

Allison  startled  slightly.  "Yes,  am  I  keeping  you 
up  too  late,  Kate.  I  don't  want  to  go  yet. " 

"You  have  a  long  ride  back." 

"I  am  contented  here  beside  you.  I  shall  have 
to  go  back  to  mountains  of  work, — and  worries, — 
to-morrow. ' ' 

"What  worries?"  Kate  asked,  only  half  seriously, 
for  business  anxieties  seemed  trivial  things  at  that 
moment,  and  unworthy  of  mention,  but  Allison  an- 
swered her  quickly  and  eagerly.  ' '  Nothing — after  to- 
night. You  are  sending  me  away  the  happiest  man 
alive." 

"Then  why  worries?"  she  insisted,  smiling. 

310 


Man  Proposes 

"I  am  mistaken,"  said  Allison.  "Such  things 
have  no  place  with  us  to-night." 

"It  was  what  I  was  thinking,"  Kate  replied ;  "but, 
Dick,  you  will  have  to  go,  dear." 

"I  suppose  I  must,"  he  assented,  regretfully. 
' '  Oh,  it  has  been  good  to  be  with  you  after  these  last 
hateful  weeks!  Kate,  when  are  you  going  to  let  me 
see  you  again  ? ' ' 

' '  I  shall  write  to  you — perhaps  I  will  come  to  Los 
Angeles  before  long."  She  smiled  happily,  as  he 
rose  and  stood  beside  her. 

"To  stay  for  a  time — will  you?"  His  voice 
brightened  with  pleasure,  but  as  Kate  saw  him  now 
in  the  light  that  fell  from  the  open  hall  door,  she  was 
struck  with  his  pallor,  and  the  drawn  lines  about  his 
mouth.  His  eyes  were  dark  under  their  black  brows, 
and  the  faint  bluish  tinge  of  cheek  and  chin  was 
more  apparent  than  usual. 

"Richard,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "you  look  ill. 
Why  do  you  work  so  hard,  and  let  business  matters 
worry  you  ?  It  is  so  foolish.  You  have  won  too  much 
success  to  let  little  things  trouble  you." 

"I  have  won  you,"  he  said;  "what  else  is  there 
that  counts.  Come  and  take  care  of  me  and  drive 
anxiety  out  of  the  window. ' '  He  put  his  arms  about 
her,  and  bent  to  kiss  her,  a  long  kiss,  for  the  tender- 
ness in  Kate's  heart  stirred  to  meet  his  caress,  but 
even  then  it  was  expressive  of  solemnity  rather  than 
the  eagerness  of  love. 

311 


XV. 

THE  NIGHT  OF  RESOLVE 

KATE  went  at  once  to  her  own  room  when  Allison 
had  gone.  Mrs.  Silence  might  come  at  any  moment 
and  Kate  did  not  want  to  see  her.  To  listen  to  ordin- 
ary conversation  would  have  been  actual  pain.  She 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  her  happiness,  and  she  went  to 
the  window  that  looked  out  to  the  mountains. 

The  moon  had  conquered  the  haze  of  earlier  even- 
ing, and  hung  round  and  clear  in  the  heavens.  There 
was  not  a  bre.ath  to  stir  the  shadows ;  they  were  marked 
distinct  on  the  stretches  of  lawn  and  gravelled  road. 
The  valley  lay  indistinct,  but  the  moon  touched  the 
mountains,  tipping  their  sky  line  with  a  pale  light  like 
the  last  faint  glow  of  a  dying  fire.  It  was  perfectly 
still,  a  silence  accentuated  by  the  distant,  smothered 
movement  of  the  waves.  The  peace  about  her  was 
only  part  with  the  deep  happiness  in  Kate 's  own  heart. 
She  had  not  asked  herself  if  her  love  had  led  her 
farther  than  she  had  intended.  The  uplift  of  her 
whole  being  was  too  great  to  allow  of  questioning. 
The  pressure  of  Allison's  lips  had  only  deepened  and 
magnified  her  resolve.  Please  God  she  would  bring 
happiness  to  Paquita,  and  peace  to  Allison's  restless 
unsatisfied  spirit.  With  the  morning  she  could  think 

312 


1'AQLITA 


HALF-CROUCHED   AT   THK    BEDSIDE 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

more  clearly.  Her  eyelids  were  heavy  with  the  weari- 
ness of  a  day  of  many  emotions  and  she  turned  from 
the  window  to  prepare  for  the  night,  drawing  the 
blinds  and  turning  on  the  shaded  light. 

She  slipped  a  wrapper  on  over  her  nightdress, 
and  crossed  the  hall  to  Paquita's  door,  listening.  She 
wanted  a  last  look  at  the  sleeping  girl  before  she  her- 
self closed  her  eyes.  There  was  not  a  sound,  and  she 
entered,  cautiously  closing  the  door  behind  her.  The 
moonlight  was  dim  in  the  room  and  as  she  stood 
still  for  a  time  trying  to  accustom  her  eyes  to  the 
gloom,  there  came  to  her  from  out  the  shadow  by  the 
bed,  a  faint  chill  that  touched  her  oddly,  a  mere 
breath  that  crept  along  her  brow  and  reached  her  hair, 
an  indefinable  thrill,  merging  into  intangible  fear. 
It  had  crept  to  her  out  of  the  gloom,  weighted  by  a 
soft,  sibilant,  indrawn  breath,  and  with  the  instinc- 
tive shrinking  from  a  peril  vaguely  sensed,  Kate 
drew  back  against  the  door,  her  cold  fingers  sweeping 
the  wall  to  find  the  light.  The  pink  glow  flooded  the 
blue  and  gold,  and  white,  and  the  form  beside  the 
bed  sprang  out  of  the  darkness  an  actuality  that  smote 
the  eyes.  Paquita  stood  half  crouched,  half  lifted, 
at  the  bedside,  her  neck  stretched  as  if  for  listening, 
her  glowing  eyes  on  the  shrinking  woman  at  the  door. 
Her  heavy  hair  was  drawn  back  as  if  twisted  away 
with  a  frantic  hand  from  a  ghastly  face.  There  was 
a  sunken  look  to  the  cheeks,  and  a  thinness  about  the 

313 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

lips  that  would  not  cover  the  white  line  of  set  teeth. 
It  was  a  face  dominated  by  the  lowered  brows  and 
blazing  eyes  of  pure  animal  fury,  human  only  in  its 
agony. 

The  shock  of  physical  terror  kept  Kate  standing, 
and  the  girl  by  the  bed  raised  herself  a  little  more 
and  came  forward  a  step,  her  shoulders  still  bent,  her 
eyes  unmoving.  "You — you  thief,"  she  said  in  a 
soft,  thick  whisper,  indescribable  in  its  emphasis. 
"Your  sweet  speaking — and  your  money — you  thief." 

"She  is  mad,"  said  Kate  to  herself.  "She  is 
ill "  She  did  not  know  she  had  spoken. 

"I  am  not  mad — I  am  not  ill,"  said  Paquita,  in 
the  same  low  voice.  Kate  had  turned  to  the  door  to 
open  it,  the  mechanical  effort  to  seek  for  help,  but  the 
girl  took  a  step  forward,  her  clenched  hands  raised 
threateningly.  "If  you  move  I'll  choke  you  to 
death,"  she  said  clearly. 

Kate  turned  and  faced  her.  The  paralysis  of 
terror  was  swept  aside  by  an  agony  of  pity  and  doubt, 
of  wonder  and  concern,  that  brought  her  dazed  facul- 
ties to  the  normal.  What  terrible  thing  had  come  to 
the  girl,  what  should  she  do  to  help  her? 

"Paquita,"  she  said,  pleadingly;  "my  child!" 

"I  am  not  your  child,"  said  the  girl,  furiously. 
"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  you — there  is  no  one  on 
earth  I  want  but  him — there's  never  anybody  I've 
wanted  but  him.  I  don't  love  any  one  I  don't  want 

314 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

any  one — but  him "  Her  voice  broke  in 

hoarseness. 

"But  who,  Paquita?"  Kate  asked,  gently,  sooth- 
ingly. She  moved  a  little  toward  the  girl. 

"Don't  come  near  me !"  said  Paquita,  her 

voice  rising  wildly.  "I  tell  you  he  loves  me — me.  I 
don 't  care  what  he  says  to  you,  or  if  he  kisses  you — 
he's  kissed  me  a  hundred  times — no  matter  what  he 
says,  I  know  he  loves  me.  It's  your  money  he  tries  to 
think  about — it's  always  money,  money,  and  what 
other  people  think,  but  down  in  him  it's  me  he 
wants!"  Her  wild  words  dropped  to  huskiness 
again.  "And  I — I  don't  care  if  he  would 
only  be  good  to  me.  I  told  him  so  when  he  said  he 
was  going  away — that  if  he  would  only  take  me  I 
didn't  care  about  anything  else — and  he — he  wouldn't 
do  it,  and  he  left  me — and  then  he  wrote  me  that — 
that  letter  I  got  this  morning — and  I  lay  here,  and  then 
I  heard  his  voice  and  I  opened  my  door  and — and  I 

saw  him — out  there — kiss  you "  The  human 

agony  had  conquered  fury,  and  she  stood  gasping  and 
clutching  at  her  breast.  "When  I  was  a  little  girl 
he  used  to  come — often — and  he  always  loved  me  and 
held  me  in  his  arms.  He  used  to  come  to  St.  Mary's 
— he  loved  me  then  too.  .  .  .  When  I  got  back  to 
the  house  he  came  and  he  loved  me  then,  but  he  was 
afraid.  When  I  looked  out  there  I  knew  what  it  was 
— it  was  you  and  your  money  that  frightened  him.  1 

315 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

hadn't  anything — no  people,  no  friends,  no  money, 
nothing  to  make  me  grand.  I  was  just  the  little  girl 
he  used  to  know  grown  up — and  he  was  afraid  to  stay, 
and  he  wrote  me  that  letter.  How  could  he — how 

could  he — kill  me — like — that ! ' '    Her  whole  body 

heaved  with  tearless  sobs.  "I — I  would  be  beaten  to 
death  for  him,  he  might  beat  me  himself  if  he  were 
angry — I'd  be  a  thing  like  Inez — I'd  be  anything — if 

he  would  only  love  me "    She  turned  for  support 

to  the  high  bed-post,  laying  her  convulsed  face  against 
it.  "I'll  go'  to  hell,"  she  said  in  a  harsh  whisper. 
"Ill  be  like  Inez  now — I'll  dance — oh,  yes,  I'll 

dance "    She  turned  about  to  face  Kate's  look 

of  horror.  "I  will  show  you  two  what  you  have  made 
me.  Have  your  grand  house — 111  not  get  out  of  your 
sight  when  every  one  points  a  finger  at  me.  I'll  be 
close  to  your  doorstep.  Maybe  you  can  stand  it — but 

not  he "    She  paused,  gasping  in  pure  exhaustion, 

and  Kate  gazed  at  her  dumb  and  wide-eyed.  There 
was  a  blindness  that  was  dropping  away  from  her 
vision,  and  a  keen  edge  of  suffering  within  her  that 
was  slowly  cutting  to  the  very  heart  of  pain.  The 
girl  before  her  was  not  mad,  no  indeed,  but  there  was 
an  endless  skein  now  for  them  to  untangle,  and  each 
thread  would  be  a  live  nerve,  shrinking  under  the 
touch.  Torture  brought  to  Kate  the  dignity  of  suffer- 
ing. She  came  to  the  girl  unhesitatingly. 

' '  Paquita, ' '  she  said  in  her  clear  voice.     ' '  You  f or- 

316 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

get  you  are  my  daughter — that  comes  first  to  me — be- 
fore anything  else  in  the  world.  Paquita,  listen  to  me, 

dear "  The  girl  sprang  from  under  her  hand 

as  from  the  touch  of  hot  iron,  her  lips  drawn  back 
from  her  teeth,  her  eyes  narrowed  and  gleaming,  and 
the  two  stood  looking  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"I  am  not  your  daughter,"  Paquita  repeated  in 
the  same  sibilant  whisper  of  a  few  moments  before. 
"I  am  Julietta  Overa's  daughter.  .  .  .  Ah,  that 
hurts  you  does  it?"  Kate's  hand  had  dropped  to  her 
side  and  she  stood  quite  still  staring  at  the  girl.  Pa- 
quita laughed  softly.  Her  ungoverned  fury  might 
belong  to  one  parentage,  but  that  soft  laugh  was  her 
father's.  She  continued  to  smile  at  the  petrified  wo- 
man from  under  her  lowered  brows.  "They  fooled 
you  finely  didn't  they — and  I — I  fooled  them  both, 
and  you  too.  When  I'm  in  hell  I  can  laugh  a  little." 
Kate  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  and  Paquita  turned 
with  a  lithe  movement  and  caught  up  a  small  packet 
that  lay  on  the  bed,  flinging  it  at  Kate's  feet.  "There 
read  about  it, ' '  she  said  in  the  same  soft  voice.  Kate 
stirred  and  looked  down  at  the  packet,  a  long  look 
that  had  little  meaning  in  it,  and  Paquita  watched  her 
with  unchanged  expression.  When  Kate  looked  up 
again  there  was  a  faint  frown  on  her  forehead  a  net- 
work of  lines  that  lifted  her  brows  curiously. 

"You  mean,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  lacked  its 
usual  modulation.  "You  mean  that  James  Payne 

317 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

passed  you  off  to  me  as  my  child  for  the  sake  of 
the  money  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"Why  did  you  help  him  in  it — for  the  sake  of 
money  too?" 

"No,"  said  Paquita,  with  a  slight  quiver  of  the 
lips  that  set  again  in  a  smile.  "I  thought  he,  Dick, 
would  care  for  me — more — if  I  was  the  child  of  a  rich 
woman.  I  found  out  their  plan  and  I  got  hold  of 
Inez's  letters,  and  Inez  never  knew  I  knew  a  thing 
about  it — not  till  it  was  all  arranged.  She  might 
laugh  for  a  little  while  at  having  fooled  me,  but 
she  wouldn't  laugh  long  when  she  found  the  papers 
gone.  She  would  be  scared  so  sick  she  will  never  dare 
tell — my  father."  The  girl's  sneer  deepened  on  the 
last  two  words. 

"You  appear  to  be  an  amiable  family,"  Kate  said, 
a  fleck  of  color  coming  into  her  cheeks. 

"I  don't  belong  to  you,  anyway!"  said  the  girl, 
her  eyes  widening  and  blazing. 

"That  is  perhaps  fortunate  for  me,"  Kate  replied. 
She  looked  down,  touching  the  packet  of  letters  with 
the  toe  of  her  slipper,  and  when  she  raised  her  face 
again  to  Paquita 's  burning  gaze,  her  own  eyes  were 
aflame  with  the  white  fire  of  scorn.  There  was  the 
glint  of  burnished  steel  in  the  glance  with  which  she 
swept  the  girl.  "I  suppose,  Paquita  Payne,"  she 
said,  more  deliberately  than  usual,  "that  it  has 

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The  Night  of  Resolve 

occurred  to  you — if  it  has  not,  it  will,  as  you  are  your 
father's  daughter,  and  possess  something  of  his  pecu- 
liar cast  of  mind — that  you  have  done  a  very  foolish 
thing.  There's  a  name  in  law  for  this  sort  of  thing, 
but  we  will  pass  over  that — there  is  a  sense  of  honor 
that  is  higher  than  law.  Do  you  suppose  for  a  mo- 
ment that  Eichard  Allison,  however  much  he  loved 
you  when  you  were  a  child,  or  feared  you  when  he 
found  you  the  sort  of  woman  you  are,  would  so  much 
as  look  at  you,  if  he  thought  you  capable  of  doiijg  a 
thing  like  this  ?  If  you  were  a  scarlet  woman,  as  you 
declare  you  will  be,  he  could  love  you  more  easily  than 
if  he  knew  you  capable  of  this.  The  woman  who 
saved  him  from  such  a  creature  as  you  are  capable  of 
being  would  be  doing  him  the  greatest  kindness  of 
his  life.  It  is  a  monstrous  thing  you  have  done. 
You  crept  into  my  house  like  a  snake,  a  thing  with 
poison  in  its  heart,  acting1  a  lie  from  morning  till 
night.  I  took  you  into  my  innermost  heart — I  allowed 
you  to  look  into  what  is  most  sacred  to  me — I  lavished 
love  on  you  and  caresses.  I  suffered  terrible  anxiety, 
for  your  sake  I  bent  my  pride — I  endured  everything 

because  of  my  love  for  you "    Kate  stooped  and 

lifted  the  packet  of  letters  and  held  them,  standing 
for  a  moment  tall  and  straight  before  the  girl,  her 
finger  pointed  at  Paquita's  twitching  face.  "You 
have  bitten  the  hand  that  caressed  you — the  only  hand 
that  could  have  saved  you  from  what  you  have  brought 

319 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

upon  yourself;  think  a  little  of  it  before  you  go  to 
sleep  under  my  roof."  She  drew  back  from  the  girl 
with  a  soft  sweep  of  her  trailing  skirts,  and  went  out 
closing  the  door  carefully  behind  her. 

Kate  stood  again  in  her  own  room.  The  covers 
of  the  bed  were  laid  back,  the  curtain  before  the  win- 
dow stirred  slightly,  touched  by  some  wandering 
breath,  and  the  shaded  light  rested  warmly  on  every- 
thing, the  exact  picture  of  twenty  minutes  before,  but 
to  Kate  years  had  passed  since  she  last  saw  it.  There 
was  a  spot  beneath  her  breast  that  burned  like  fire, 
and  a  quick  pulse  beat  in  her  throat,  but  her  head  was 
clear,  and  her  hands  cold. 

She  came  forward  and  put  the  packet  of  letters  on 
her  open  desk,  and  then  moved  about  deliberately 
preparing  for  bed.  She  would  read  them  later,  there 
was  no  haste — there  was  no  need  of  haste  about  any- 
thing. She  was  at  last  quite  free  to  da  exactly  what 
she  chose.  She  drew  the  pins  from  her  hair,  and 
brushed  and  combed  the  burnished  mass,  leaving  it 
loose  on  her  shoulders — she  would  coil  it  up  when 
she  went  to  bed.  So  at  last  she  could  turn  her  back 
completely  on  the  past — even  on  the  recollection  of 
all  that  was  sickening — if  she  willed  it  so  she  would 
have  the  strength  to  do  it.  Under  what  obligation 
was  she  to  any  one  ?  She  had  borne  herself  honestly 
and  honorably  throughout  it  all — what  woman  could 

320 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

do  more.  She  had  been  lied  to,  tortured,  duped,  the 
sweetest  and  most  sacred  thing,  the  innermost  sanc- 
tuary of  her  woman's  heart,  polluted,  desecrated — 
but  what  had  that  to  do  with  her?  Let  it  rest  with 
those  who  were  guilty  of  such  sacrilege.  She  would 
sweep  her  heart  clean  of  their  foot-prints,  and  begin 
anew.  What  did  she  not  have  in  her  favor,  beauty, 
position,  wealth,  and  a  breast  young  enough  to  give 
life  to  her  second  born.  What  was  it  that  Allison 
had  cried  to  her?  "Kate,  I  need  you — I  need 

you "    Truly  he  needed  her,  and  even  more  than 

he  knew!  The  ungoverned  woman,  capable  of  sin, 
had  tempted  him,  smiling  at  him  from  the  face  of  a 
child,  and  he  had  fled  from  her.  Was  it  to  his  dis- 
credit that  he  had  done  so,  that  he  had  turned  from 
"What  appealed  to  the  least  admirable"  in  him? 
Each  word  of  his  stood  out  now  clearly,  dragged  from 
subconscious  memory  into  the  light  of  an  understand- 
ing made  vivid  by  anger.  Let  such  qualities  as  had 
gibed  at  her  in  the  last  unspeakable  hour  seek  their 
fitting  place.  Was  she  called  upon  to  stretch  out  an 
ineffective  hand  ?  Allison  had  come  to  her  in  his  need 
as  to  the  best  and  truest  that  he  knew,  and  she  would 
not  fail  him.  He  wanted  the  strength  of  her  spirit 
to  lean  upon,  she  had  always  freely  shown  him  that 
side  of  her  nature,  but  what  of  the  other  that  she 
had  so  carefully  hidden?  She  stood  with  her  head 
held  high  before  her  mirror,  and  turned  a  brighter 
21  321 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

light  upon  her  reflection.  It  looked  at  her  from  the 
glass,  smiling  faintly,  and  she  scanned  it  with  a  veiled 
glance  that  grew  into  brilliancy  at  the  realization  of 
its  beauty: — the  forehead  with  its  arch  of  brow, 
the  curve  of  cheek  and  chin,  the  sweep  of  heavy  lashes, 
and  the  soft  allure  of  the  slightly  parted  lips.  Her 
eyes  fell  to  the  full  throat,  dimpled  at  the  shoulders, 
and  the  swell  of  her  bosom,  half  hidden  by  the  lace 
of  her  nightdress,  and  then  came  back  to  the  smoulder- 
ing fire  of  her  eyes.  "Would  the  man  who  laid  his 
head  on  her  breast  find  it  a  cold  or  hard  resting  place  ? 
She  turned  from  her  mirror  with  a  lifted  lip.  Money ! 
She  had  a  far  more  tempting  dowery  than  mere 
money  at  her  command! 

She  drew  a  chair  to  her  desk,  and  untied  and  un- 
wrapped the  packet  of  letters  with  a  steady  hand. 
There  were  four  letters  in  yellowed  envelopes,  and 
three  photographs  tied  separately  with  a  faded  blue 
ribbon.  Kate  pushed  the  packet  of  photographs  from 
her,  and  laid  the  letters  out  on  the  desk.  She  ar- 
ranged them  in  order  of  time,  for  they  were  all  clearly 
post-marked.  The  first  was  marked  Los  Angeles,  and 
bore  the  date  of  November  25,  1893,  fifteen  years 
earlier,  just  three  weeks  before  she  herself  had  arrived 
in  Los  Angeles.  The  letter  she  held,  like  the  other 
three,  was  addressed  to  Miss  Inez  Overa,  and  Kate 
knew  the  hand  well,  the  heavy  downward  and  the  in- 
effective upward  strokes.  It  brought  the  vision  of 

322 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

James  Payne  vividly  to  her.  It  was  a  letter  of  finan- 
cial plans  for  the  future,  with  an  invitation  to  the 
woman  to  join  him.  It  was  the  few  sentences  at  the 
end  that  had  an  interest  for  Kate.  "If  you  make  up 
your  mind  that  you  are  ready  to  come  out  here  and 
take  pot  luck  with  me,"  the  writer  concluded,  "I 
want  you,  of  course,  to  bring  little  Julietta  with  you. 
She's  two  years  old  now,  isn't  she?  Lord,  how  old 
time  goes!  We'll  take  the  two  children  and  set  up 
a  model  household  up  north,  or  if  times  don 't  prosper, 
I  will  put  them  both  in  a  home  in  Victoria.  Anita, 
she's  the  old  Mexican  woman  I  hired  to  take  care  of 
Kate's  baby,  arrived  the  other  day,  and  we  put  the 
baby  at  The  Sisters'.  They  were  horrified  that  the 
infant  had  not  been  christened,  so  the  good  souls 
promptly  gave  her  a  name,  and  I  suppose  made  her  a 
good  Catholic  at  the  same  time. 

"No,  I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  my  wife,  and 
I  am  not  likely  to.  I  don't  take  kindly  to  interfer- 
ence in  my  affairs,  and  I  think  she  has  learned  a  lesson 
that  will  keep  her  quiet."  Then  a  curious  note  in 
the  man's  character  revealed  itself — "but  mind,  I 
will  have  no  talk  against  Kate,  necessity's  one  thing 
and  right  another.  I  had  necessity  on  my  side,  I 
generally  have,  but  Kate  has  right  on  hers.  She  is 
a  stranger  to  you  as  you  are  to  her — forget  that  she 
was  ever  anything  else  to  me,  and  let  things  rest. 

"If  you  come,  and,  Enie,  I  want  you  badly  enough, 

323 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

arrange  to  take  the  Santa  Fe.  There  is  talk  of  the 
road's  bringing  out  a  crowd  of  mining  men,  a  sort 
of  combination  business  and  pleasure  affair,  and  you 
better  find  out  about  it  and  come  with  the  crowd, 
cara  mia.  You  may  pick  up  some  valuable  informa- 
tion en  route.  .  .  .  Enie,  I  am  not  much  good  on 
paper,  but  when  I  kiss  you  you  will  not  be  unhappy. 
"Your  lover  as  always, 

"JAMES  S.  PAYNE." 

Kate  thrust  the  letter  aside  with  a  shaking  hand, 
and  lifted  the  next.  It  was  dated  three  years  later, 
and  was  sent  from  Victoria,  B.C.  It  was  a  long  letter, 
sheet  after  sheet,  clearly  written,  carefully  worked 
out,  the  scheme  of  a  land  theft  in  a  northern  Pacific 
State.  Kate  read  it  hurriedly,  seeking  for  the  para- 
graph that  came  at  the  very  end.  "I  took  time  to  go 
out  to  the  Home  and  see  the  children  yesterday. 
Julietta  hasn  't  grown  an  inch,  but  Frances  is  tall  for 
her  age,  and  I,  who  shouldn't  say  it,  declare  that  they 
are  two  pretty  children.  Julietta  has  the  Overa  look, 
but  she  is  really  like  me,  and  Frances  is  her  mother's 
own  child,  all  but  the  eyebrows.  I  was  moved  to 
give  them  a  holiday,  so  picture  me,  the  distant  relative, 
sedately  walking  off  under  the  severe  eyes  of  the 
matron,  an  infant  clinging  to  each  hand. 

"I  may  as  well  wait  about  here  until  I  have  fur- 
ther word  about  the  deal,  and  then  for  Seattle,  and 
you,  sweetheart,  .  .  ." 

324 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

Kate's  lips  parted  in  a  quivering  sigh,  and  she 
read  the  next  letter  through  fast-dropping  tears.  It 
was  short  and  abrupt,  and  was  dated  only  two  weeks 
later:  "Dear  Inez,  the  Washington  land  deal  is  oS 
if  I  can't  raise  another  two  thousand,  and  I  will  drop 
it  for  a  while,  and  join  you  in  Seattle. 

"I  don't  suppose  it's  of  any  particular  interest  to 
you,  but  Frances  died  yesterday  at  the  Home,  and 
Julietta  is  down  with  diphtheria  too — most  of  the  chil- 
dren are.  Julietta  will  pull  through  for  she  has  a 
mild  case,  and  when  she  is  up  I  am  going  to  bring 
her  along  with  me.  I  have  an  idea  I  can  get  hold  of 
some  money  in  Los  Angeles,  but  we  will  talk  it  over. 

"I  wondered  to-day  when  the  preacher  was  saying 
his  prayer  over  the  grave,  which  of  the  two  babies, 
Frances  or  Julietta  was  the  luckiest.  There  wouldn  't 
be  any  reason  for  thinking  about  it  at  all  if  they  had 
only  buried  me  when  I  was  the  same  age.  That  would 
have  been  the  best  thing  all  around,  I  suppose." 

Kate  had  dropped  the  letter  and  sat  with  bent  head 
and  heavy  eyes.  The  proud  lift  of  the  head  was 
gone,  and  the  little  lines  that  speak  of  the  years  lived 
through,  had  appeared  about  her  lips  and  on  her  brow. 
She  sat  a  long  time  as  one  bent  over  in  physical  pain, 
and  she  opened  the  last  letter  slowly  and  wearily.  It 
was  written  in  anger,  real  or  assumed,  and  sent  from 
Los  Angeles.  "Yes,"  James  wrote,  "I  have  taken 
Julietta  to  Th«  Sisters',  and  I  hav*  told  them  that  ahe 

325 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

was  the  baby  they  baptized  four  years  ago,  and 
Frances  Payne  she  is,  and  Frances  Payne  she  will 
remain.  I  have  my  own  reasons  for  it,  and  I'll  re- 
mind you  that  you  may  be  her  aunt,  but  I  am  her 
father,  and  I  shall  do  as  I  think  best.  If  you  want 
to  break  with  me  for  a  foolish  thing  that  does  not 
concern  you,  you  can. 

"You  are  ridiculous.  You  do  not  care  a  copper 
for  the  child,  it's  something  else  that's  worrying  you, 
Enie.  You  think  that  because  I  will  not  marry  you, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  am  free,  I  still  have  a  vision 
of  poor  Kate  in  my  brain,  and  that  I  want  the  child 
as  a  hold  on  her.  Perhaps  I  do,  but  not  in  the  way 
you  think.  I  have  had  enough  of  matrimony  and 
children.  The  one  reason  you  and  I  keep  together 
is  that  there  is  nothing  binding  us  to  do  so,  and  we 
would  better  let  good  enough  alone.  I  have  told  you 
more  than  times  enough,  that  I  love  you  better  than 
any  one  else  living,  and  more  than  that  I  can't  do — 
you  will  have  to  be  satisfied  with  it. 

"I  haven't  patience  to  write  business  to  you  to- 
day, but  I  am  well,  and  things  look  encouraging.  I 
advise  you  to  think  things  over,  and  write  me  sensibly. 
Until  then  I  shall  keep  my  own  counsel." 

With  stiff  fingers  Kate  untied  the  ribbon  that  held 
the  photographs,  and  they  lay  on  the  table  before  her. 
She  gazed  at  them  steadily  until  memory  came  to  her 
aid.  The  little  dreamy-eyed,  dimpled  child,  of  level 

326 


The  Night  of  Resolve 

brows  and  slow  smile  carried  her  back  through  the 
years  to  that  wretched,  well-remembered  journey. 
She  could  see  now  the  car  with  its  succession  of  seats, 
and  the  little  child  who  wandered  away  from  the 
highly-colored,  bold-eyed  woman,  and  came  to  nestle 
in  her  arms.  The  child's  face  was  not  so  unlike  the 
Paquita  Kate  had  taken  into  her  heart  that  she  failed 
to  recognize  the  resemblance.  Kate  laid  it  down 
gently  beside  the  photograph  of  the  brilliant-hued, 
carmine-lipped  woman  of  the  train  whom  she  also 
recognized  now,  the  Inez  Overa  of  the  letters,  and 
the  miserable  crippled  woman  of  the  desolate  house 
above  the  arroyo.  But  the  third  she  did  not  know, 
and  she  drew  it  up  to  her  with  a  low  cry,  the  little 
pictured  face,  with  its  wide  deep  eyes  and  soft  curls. 
She  held  it  to  her  cheek,  her  lips,  and  close  to  her 
breast.  "My  baby — my  baby!"  the  mother  said,  and 
the  spot  of  fire  beneath  her  breast  was  quenched,  and 
the  blood  throbbed  again  in  her  finger-tips  and  around 
her  cold  lips.  ...  In  a  world  that  held  so  passion- 
ate a  delight  and  such  exquisite  pain,  what  place  was 
there  for  anger,  contempt,  and  revenge,  the  passions 
of  jealousy  and  self -gratification  ?  They  were  little 
things  and  far  away.  They  stirred  only  the  surface 
of  pain,  and  hovered  on  the  borderland  of  delight. 

As  Kate  sat  the  night  through,  her  head  bent  on 
the  pictured  face,  the  crowding  thoughts  came,  now 
vividly  clear,  now  dimmed  by  pain,  an  ever-moving 

327 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

procession.  .  .  .  "Was  not  mother  love  the  vital 
flame  caught  from  mother  earth  ?  Inexorable  she  was 
in  her  laws,  but  her  sun  shone  on  the  unjust  as  well 
as  the  just,  the  crippled  as  well  as  the  strong.  .  .  . 
Were  the  crippled  of  mind  less  worthy  of  tenderness 
than  the  crippled  of  body?  .  .  .  The  creature  that 
walked  on  all  fours,  the  bird  that  flew,  even  the  thing 
that  crawled,  guarded  and  yearned  over  its  young; 
but  the  being  that  was  breathed  upon  by  the  divine, 
that  lifted  its  troubled  eyes  to  the  Infinite,  and  pon- 
dered over  good  and  evil,  was  her  love  not  great 
enough  to  gather  to  her  breast  the  motherless,  though 
not  of  her  own  flesh  or  nurture  ?  And  as  in  the  long 
hours  when  out  of  her  girlhood  grew  the  strength  of 
her  womanhood,  so  out  of  the  trial  of  her  womanhood 
was  born  a  greater  possibility. 


XVI. 

THE  CHILD  OF  THE  RUINED  GARDEN 

THE  pale  gray  of  dawn  was  yielding  in  the  eastern 
horizon  to  a  misty  pink,  when  Kate  again  opened 
Paquita's  door  and  stood  within  the  threshold.  The 
faint  glow  of  morning  showed  through  the  half -open 
window,  but  the  room  was  still  chill  in  its  winding 
sheet  of  gray.  The  white  of  the  bed  was  distinct, 
and  sitting  beside  it  on  the  floor,  was  Paquita,  her 
body  leaning  against  it,  her  head  buried  in  her  folded 
arms.  Kate  could  not  tell  if  she  was  awake  for  her 
hair  covered  her,  but  she  came  close  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her. 

"Paquita,"  she  whispered.  The  girl  moved  and 
lifted  her  head,  brushing  back  the  hair  from  her  face. 
She  looked  up  at  Kate,  then  clutching  the  bed-clothes 
drew  herself  to  her  feet.  Kate  had  washed  and 
dressed  for  the  day,  her  hair  gathered  back  in  its 
usual  soft  waves.  Her  face  was  dead  white,  save 
for  the  color  in  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  dark  ringed, 
but  it  was  a  steady  light  that  looked  out  of  their 
gray  depths.  Her  look  softened  into  unshed  tears, 
at  the  utter  misery  of  the  girl's  attitude.  The  swol- 
len lines  of  long  and  uncontrolled  weeping  had  sunk 
into  sodden  pallor,  and  her  heavy  eyes  lacked  all 

329 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

expression.    She   stood   uncertainly,   with   drooping 
shoulders. 

"Paquita,"  Kate  said,  more  clearly,  "my  poor 
child!"  The  call  was  indescribable  in  its  tenderness, 
illimitable  in  its  promise  of  comfort,  and  the  girl 
came  into  the  woman's  embrace  and  clung  to  her 
breast  like  the  drowning  to  his  bit  of  driftwood. 

"My  child,"  Kate  said  again,  her  lips  against 
Paquita 's  cold  cheek.  Each  had  thought  the  source 
of  tears  gone  dry  in  the  night,  but  at  the  touch  of 
tenderness  they  ran  afresh.  Kate  drew  the  girl  to 
the  low  seat  beside  the  bed,  and  held  her  as  Paquita 
half  knelt,  half  clung  to  her  neck. 

"I  will  go  away — to-day,"  Paquita  said,  trem- 
bling all  over.  "I  will  go  to  The  Sisters'," — her 
voice  rose  to  a  choked  cry — "I  can't  be  like  Inez,  I 
cannot,  I  cannot!" 

"You  will  stay  with  me  and  be  really  my  child, 
Paquita,"  Kate  said.  "I  want  you,  for  my  heart  is 
so  empty.  We  will  put  the  past  far  behind  us  and 
make  a  beautiful  place  of  the  future.  Anything  it  is 
in  my  power  to  give  you,  you  shall  have,  but  we  must 
work  together,  Paquita." 

"I  am  not  fit,"  said  the  girl,  shivering.  "I  am  a 
liar,  and  a  thief.  Last  night  I  could  have  killed  you — 
I  am  worse  than  Inez  even.  I  will  go  to  The  Sisters' 
and  pray  to  our  Lady  to  forgive  me."  It  was  the 
ineradicable  training  of  childhood  brought  to  the 
surface  in  this  hour  of  stress. 

330 


The  Child  of  the  Ruined  Garden 

"You  may  go  to  The  Sisters',  dear,  and  pray  to 
the  Good  Mother  and  she  will  hear  you,  but,  Paquita, 
you  must  come  back  to  me.  I  want  you,  and  there 
may  be  another  who  will  want  you." 

The  girl  raised  her  head,  and  bracing  herself 
against  Kate's  shoulders  with  shaking  hands,  drew 
back  and  looked  into  her  face.  "You  could  want  me 
after  what  I  have  done — after  what  I  said  to  you  last 
night?"  Her  dull  eyes  widened  in  slowly  growing 
wonder. 

"Yes,"  said  Kate  in  her  sweet  voice,  "and,  Pa- 
quita, I  mean  that  you  shall  have  your  happiness  so 
far  as  I  can  give  it  to  you.  "Would  I  hesitate  for  one 
instant  if  you  were  my  very  own  daughter  ?  You  are 
helpless,  hampered,  motherless,  a  child  trying  to  walk 
alone.  If  you  have  not  the  strength,  if  you  are  not 
fit,  what  chance  have  you  had  to  make  yourself  so? 
I  was  ready  to  struggle  endlessly  for  you — am  I  going 
to  turn  my  back  upon  you  simply  because  you  were 
not  borne  by  me  ?  Another  woman  bore  you  in  suffer- 
ing, probably  as  great  as  my  own.  I  don't  know  how 
to  tell  my  feeling  to  you,  Paquita,  I  couldn't  say  it 
in  words  to  myself,  but  I  know  that  it  is  the  strongest 
thing  in  me — and  I  want  to  give  you  only  what  I 
should  have  gladly  given  to  my  own." 

"You  mean  you  will  not  try  to  take  him  away — 

that  you  want  to  help  me  to  be  so  that  he "  Her 

words  were  lost  in  a  whisper.  A  flash  of  color  gwept 

331 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

over  her  face,  making  her  eyes  brilliant,  touching 
every  feature  with  vivid  beauty.  It  flamed  up  and 
sank  away.  * '  I  am  not  fit; ' '  she  said  as  before.  ' '  He 
does  not  want  me,  he  is  afraid  of  me.  He  says  in 
his  letter  we  could  never  be  happy,  that  he  would  love 
me  for  a  little  time  and  then  be  sorry  always  after- 
wards; that  I  am  a  child  and  don't  know  the  meaning 
of  things — but  I  do,  I  do !  I  love  him  and  he  doesn  't 
want  me. ' '  A  quiver  of  agony  crossed  her  face,  mak- 
ing her  words  difficult.  "It  was  that  that  made  me 
wild — and  to  see  him  kiss  you.  I  knew  then  that 
I  wasn't  fit,  and  I  knew  it  last  night  when  I  sat  here 
and  thought.  Why  shouldn't  he  want  you — rather 
than  me — even  if  he  loved  me.  You  are  good,  and  I 
— I'm — I  could  be  like  Inez,  and  that's  why  he  doesn't 
want  me  and  is  afraid."  She  stopped,  choking,  and 
then  began  again,  her  hands  gripping  Kate's 
shoulders. 

"Nobody  ever  loved  me  but  him.  I  didn't  remem- 
ber quickly  like  most  children — I  remember  him  first 
of  all,  almost,  and  I  only  wanted  to  be  so  he  would 
care  for  me.  When  I  was  little  I  used  to  dance,  and 
laugh,  and  talk,  just  to  make  him  like  me,  and  to  make 
him  look  pleased,  and  kiss  me.  When  I  was  bigger 
I  wanted  money,  and  friends,  and  things  like  you  have 
them,  because  I  knew  they  were  the  things  that  he 
cared  about — I  wanted  them  just  so  he  would  love 
me.  I  told  lies  to  Inez  because  I  hated  her — I  never 

332 


The  Child  of  the  Ruined  Garden 

told  them  to  him.  I  was  always  afraid  that  Inez 
was  my  mother,  and  I  knew  Mr.  Payne  was  my  father 
— I  could  feel  it — and  I  didn't  want  Dick  to  think 
so  too.  I  wanted  to  be  altogether  different  from 
such  people.  When  I  came  back  from  St.  Mary's, 
and  Dick  came,  I  dressed  up  as  beautifully  as  I  could, 
and  I  tried  to  make  him  love  me  every  way  I  knew 
how.  I  could  make  him  kiss  me  as  if  he  would  never 
let  me  go,  but  the  next  minute  he  was  afraid.  I  didn  't 
know  the  right  way  to  make  him  love  me,  and  I  only 
asked  him  to — to  take  me  away  with  him  when  I  was 
wild.  If  he  gave  me  up  I  couldn't  live.  .  .  .  But 
he  wouldn't  stay, — and  he  wouldn't  take  me — he  said 
he  loved  me  too  much  to  do  either,  but  he  promised 
to  write  to  me,  and  he  did  once,  only  a  few  lines,  and 
then  I  waited  and  waited."  Paquita  took  her  hands 
from  Kate's  shoulders  and  wrung  them,  and  Kate 
listened  to  her  with  blanching  lips. 

"When  Mr.  Payne  told  me  you  were  my  mother, 
and  Inez  said  it  was  true,  it  seemed  to  me  the  Good 
God  had  opened  heaven.  You  would  teach  me  how  to 
make  Dick  really  want  me — you  were  like  the  people 
he  was  proud  of — always  I  had  longed  and  prayed 
for  it.  Always  at  St.  Mary's  when  the  other  girls 
whispered  when  they  knelt — I  prayed  my  own  prayer, 
and  it  was  always  the  same — that  I  would  be  so  that 
Dick  would  love  me,  only  just  that.  .  .  .  After 
they  told  me  and  I  listened  and  thought  for  a  time, 

333 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

I  grew  afraid ;  there  was  something  they  were  hiding 
from  me,  and  the  more  I  thought  the  more  certain  I 
was.  I  stole  Inez's  letters  to  find  out.  She  used  to 
faint  sometimes  after  she  had  been  angry  and 
screamed  at  me.  That  day  I  asked  her  what  it  was 
they  were  planning,  and  she  laughed  and  jeered  at 
me,  and  I  told  her  what  I  thought  of  her — I — I  called 
her  a  name  I  never  could  when  I  was  afraid  I  be- 
longed to  her,  and  I  said  it  more  than  once,  and  she 
went  wild  and  cursed  me. ' '  The  girl  frowned  heavily. 
"I  had  to  bathe  her  head  then,  and  I  saw  the  key 
to  her  trunk  around  her  neck.  I  had  often  seen  it 
before,  and  I  knew  she  never  let  any  other  person 
touch  her  trunk — it  was  in  the  same  room  with  her 
always,  close  by  her  chair.  She  kept  papers  in  it, 
and  the  dresses  she  used  to  wear  before  she  came  to 
the  old  house.  I  thought  if  I  took  her  papers  I  could 
make  her  tell  me  the  truth.  I  took  them  out  and 
put  the  key  back  around  her  neck.  When  she  was  all 
right  again  I  read  them,  locked  up  in  my  room. 
Almost  in  the  first  letter  I  found  out  who  I  was.  I 
belonged  to  people  like  that!"  The  girl  gasped. 
"Inez  broke  my  mother's  heart.  She  stole  my  father 
from  her — and  he  was — he  is — oh!"  Kate  took  the 
girl's  twisting  hands  and  held  them  tightly.  "I 
burned  every  letter,"  said  Paquita,  passionately. 
"There  was  no  one  else  in  the  world  should  read 
them,  but  I  kept  those  four  that  told  most  about  me, 

334 


The  Child  of  the  Ruined  Garden 

and  after  a  while  I  thought  what  I  should  do,  for  I 
could  not  let  Dick  go — I  could  not.  You  wanted  a 
child  and  I  would  corne  to  you — if  you  didn't  know, 
what  great  difference  did  it  make  ?  I  would  love  you 
all  I  could," — her  lips  began  to  tremble,  the  tears 
rising  in  her  eyes — "and  when  you  loved  me  a  great 
deal  I  would  tell  you  about  Dick  and  you  would  help 
me.  But  he  was  so  long  in  writing,  and  they  were 
worrying  you  to  death — and  then  he  wrote — cruelly, 
I  would  rather  he  killed  me — I  felt  as  if  he  had 
killed  me,  and  then  I  heard  his  voice  and  I  opened  the 
door  and  saw — and  I  could  have  killed — you — I  could 

have  been  like  Inez — I — I "    Her  voice  had  risen 

to  a  cry,  and  Kate  caught  her  convulsively,  pressing 
her  face  to  her  breast. 

"Paquita!"  she  said,  brokenly.  "Paquita! — God 
forgive  us  all ! "  She  held  her  for  a  long  time  without 
any  other  word,  her  cheek  bent  to  the  girl's  head. 
Then  she  spoke  slowly,  even  sternly.  "Paquita,  you 
must  never  say  that  again.  You  are  not  like  Inez — 
you  will  never  be  like  Inez.  You  have  been  close 
to  those  who  would  lie  and  steal,  and  in  fighting 
for  your  happiness  you  have  used  the  only  weapons 
you  have  been  taught  to  use.  Put  that  all  behind 
you.  Whatever  the  blood  in  you,  the  soul  in  you  is 
greater — I  have  felt  it  in  the  last  few  moments.  It 
was  your  immense  love  that  awakened  it  in  you,  that 
nourished  it  until  it  is  the  larger  part  of  you,  and, 

335 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

Paquita,  good  is  so  very  much  stronger  than  evil. 
I  can  almost  see  what  the  future  will  be. ' '  She  kissed 
the  girl  gently.  "You  are  going  to  stay  with  me, 
until  Richard  Allison  takes  you  away  from  me." 

Paquita  did  not  lift  her  head,  and  it  was  very 
hard  to  say,  but  it  was  born  from  the  travail  of  the 
night,  and  she  dragged  it  forth.  "You  would  be 
better — for  him, ' '  she  said. 

"I  think  not,"  said  Kate,  smiling  faintly.  "Your 
Richard  has  very  many  faults,  Paquita,  and  I  under- 
stand some  things  better  now.  He  would,  in  the 
end,  have  found  it  as  impossible  to  conquer  his  love, 
even  for  the  sake  of  ambitions  and  imaginary  ideals, 
as  you  would  have  found  it  impossible  to  be  what  in 
a  moment  of  frenzy  your  imagination  suggested.  I 
see  it  very  clearly  now.  He  loved  you  dearly  as  a 
little  girl,  and  when  you  were  a  child  and  a  woman 
both,  he  loved  you  as  a  woman,  though  he  did  not 
know  it.  When  you  showed  yourself  to  him  as  a 
woman,  openly,  crudely  perhaps,  in  your  red  and 
yellow  parlor  above  the  arroyo,  he  was  startled  and 
afraid — but  I  think  he  loved  you  just  the  same.  I 
think  the  little  child  had  a  place  in  his  heart,  and 
the  woman  crept  into  that  place  without  his  leave. 
...  I  had  all  the  worldly  enticements,  I  know, 
Paquita,  and  I  had  esteem,  affection,  and  something 
of  reverence — and  they  are  a  great  deal — some  people 
say  everything — but  I  never  had  what  you  have,  and 
what  belongs  to  you  shall  be  yours." 

336 


The  Child  of  the  Ruined  Garden 

Paquita  listened  with  lifted  head  now,  wide-eyed 
and  breathless.  "But  if  he  doesn't  esteem  me — if  he 
is  afraid — what  can  I  do?" 

"That  is  your  work  in  the  future — and  mine," 
said  the  elder  woman,  still  gently.  "You  dreamed 
of  what  money  and  friends  would  do,  Paquita,  and 
they  are  at  your  command,  but  I  think  the  little  loving 
child  of  the  ruined  garden  will  be  your  best  ally." 
And  though  Paquita  as  yet  only  half  understood,  she 
reached  up  and  drew  Kate's  cheek  to  her  own. 


22 


XVII. 

TRIAL  BY  FIRE 

ALLISON  fcad  passed  three  absorbed  hours  over  the 
pile  of  documents  on  the  desk  before  him  and  when 
at  last  he  gathered  them  up  to  return  them  to  the 
safe,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  relief.  He  had 
come  back  to  an  accumulation  of  business  that  claimed 
every  moment  of  his  time.  Three  days  had  passed 
since  his  evening  in  Moneta  Valley  with  Kate,  and  he 
had  scarcely  found  time  to  eat  or  sleep ;  even  the  even- 
ings he  had  spent  at  the  office,  busied  over  his  papers. 
He  had  sent  a  short  letter  to  Kate,  for  in  the  rush 
of  work  he  had  made  time  for  that,  but  he  had  not 
heard  from  her. 

He  was  free  now  to  go  to  his  apartment  and  rest 
in  preparation  for  another  hurried  day,  but  he  felt 
no  great  desire  to  go.  He  was  tired  enough,  but  not 
sleepy.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and  found  that  it 
was  almost  eleven  o'clock,  and  then  in  his  usual 
methodical  manner  he  cleared  his  desk  for  the  next 
morning,  carefully  putting  away  the  pages  of  notes 
he  had  been  making.  Another  day  or  two  would  find 
him  much  more  free,  and  yet  he  was  conscious  that  he 
did  not  desire  it  particularly,  any  more  than  he  wished 
for  the  relaxing  atmosphere  of  his  comfortable  apart- 

338 


Trial  by  Fir« 

ment.  The  surroundings  that  suggested  a  stress  of 
work  were  preferable.  For  the  same  reason  he  did 
not  care  to  smoke — it  was  not  his  habit  to  smoke  when 
he  worked. 

He  seated  himself,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head,  his  chair  tipped  back  so  as  to  look  out  at  the 
cloud  streaked  sky.  He  was  endeavoring  to  turn  his 
thoughts  to  the  demands  of  the  coming  day,  but 
thoughts  are  the  least  easy  of  servants  to  control,  and 
instead  of  busying  themselves  in  preparations  for  the 
next  day's  labors,  they  turned  determinedly  to  other 
matters.  They  lingered  over  his  four  weeks  of  holiday 
just  past  with  a  sense  of  utter  distaste.  "When  in  all 
his  knowledge  of  himself  had  he  experienced  such  a 
period  of  vacillation,  feverish  misery,  and  positive 
unhappiness?  From  the  night  over  five  weeks  before 
when  he  had  looked  up  and  seen  Paquita's  slender 
scarlet  figure  poised  above  him,  to  the  moment  when 
he  had  dropped  his  carefully  written  and  well  con- 
sidered letter  into  the  post-box,  it  had  been  one  long 
struggle  on  his  part  against  emotions  strong,  disquiet- 
ing, grown  beyond  his  control.  He  had  fled  from  the 
cause  of  them— a  holiday  indeed!  ...  He  thought 
now  of  Paquita  with  a  stab  of  pain  that  sent  the 
blood  to  his  head,  and  drew  a  sharp  breath  from  him. 
He  might  toil  over  his  papers,  or  plan  his  future; 
he  might  close  his  eyes  to  the  vision  that  constantly 
presented  itself,  and  bolster  his  determination  by 

339 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

every  argument  at  his  command,  and  all  the  power  of 
resistance  he  possessed,  but  the  vision  would  not  van- 
ish. It  came  again  and  again  between  him  and  every- 
thing he  looked  upon.  It  was  the  vision  of  Paquita 
left  desolate  in  the  ruined  garden.  To  whom  would  she 
turn,  and  to- what?  Allison  set  his  teeth  to  do  battle 
with  the  thought  that  crept  like  slow  fire  over  every 
inch  of  his  body,  an  actual  physical  torment.  She 
would  be  flung  out  into  the  world  to  be  leered  at  by 
coarse  eyes,  touched  by  coarse  hands,  and  he  would 
be  powerless  to  prevent.  .  .  .  The  paroxysm  came 
and  passed  as  it  had  done  before  and  what  Allison 
called  his  reason  reasserted  itself.  Paquita  must  make 
her  struggle  as  others  had  done.  If  he  considered 
carefully  he  might  discover  some  means  of  assisting 
her  in  the  future.  He  breathed  more  evenly  as  he  told 
himself  that  he  had  a  right  to  set  his  interests  first — 
no,  not  his  interests  only,  but  hers  as  well,  for  what 
Paquita  had  asked  of  him  was  an  utter  impossibility, 
and  would  have  resulted  in  nothing  but  wretchedness 
to  her.  If  he  himself  had  imagined  in  wild  moments 
that  he  could  set  aside  his  pride,  and  ambition,  and 
affection,  and  above  all  his  common  sense,  and  take 
that  untutored,  irresponsible,  passionate  girl,  and 
put  her  in  the  place  he  had  always  regarded  as  be- 
longing by  every  right,  and  social  as  well  as  personal 
obligation,  to  a  woman  her  exact  opposite,  he  had  been 
mad  that  was  all.  If  he  had  at  moments  considered 

340 


Trial  by  Fire 

such  a  thing  as  a  possibility,  that  last  painful  hour 
with  Paquita  would  have  been  sufficient  to  decide 
him.  He  told  himself  that  it  had  decided  him.  She 
had  struck  at  the  very  citadel  of  his  prejudices.  A 
man's  domestic  life  should  be  as  well  ordered  as  his 
business  day,  and  controlled  by  ordinary  common 
sense  as  well  as  by  affection.  There  was  no  possible 
lasting  happiness,  at  least  for  him,  under  any  other 
circumstances.  His  convictions  were  too  deeply  in- 
grained in  him  to  admit  of  a  doubt  of  it.  Such  as  his 
gods  were,  he  worshipped  them,  and  he  would  only 
have  been  doing  violence  to  the  ineradicable  in  him  if 
he  had  yielded  to  a  passion  strangely  commingled  with 
tenderness  for  immaturity  and  ignorance,  and  mar- 
ried a  girl  of  Paquita 's  shortcomings.  But  was  that 
the  real  temptation  from  which  he  had  fled?  "What 
was  it  that  had  taken  him  to  the  Summit  Hill  house 
when  he  felt  so  sure  of  his  attitude  ?  Why  after  that 
first  night  had  he  yielded  to  the  longing  to  return, 
not  once,  but  several  times?  "What  was  the  unspeak- 
able, vaguely  suggested  compromise  that  had  sprung 
into  a  possibility  on  that  last  night  when  Paquita  had 
clung  to  his  neck  and  pleaded  for  her  happiness? 
Allison  took  his  hands  from  behind  his  head  and 
pressed  them  to  his  eyes  as  if  to  shut  away  from  sight 
a  thing  too  painful  to  contemplate.  The  little  smiling 
child  that  had  clung  to  his  hand — and  he  could  have 
let  that  thought  find  a  lodgment  in  his  brain  even 

341 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

for  a  few  ungoverned  moments.  ...  It  must  be  a 
passion  compounded  of  sordid  elements  that  would 
make  such  a  thought  possible.  Thank  God,  he  had 
been  strong  enough  to  turn  his  back  upon  it  all,  and 
cling  to  early  convictions  and  ideals!  His  reward 
had  been  far  greater  than  his  desert,  and  it  had  come 
so  quickly  that  he  was  still  dazed  by  its  suddenness. 
Why  dwell  on  past  vacillations  with  such  a  future 
at  hand?  Two  months  earlier  he  would  have  floated 
on  the  top  wave  of  satisfaction  at  thought  of  the  pros- 
pect before  him.  But  now  the  deepened  fold  between 
his  eyes  lost  but  little  of  its  significance. 

He  turned  his  thoughts  determinedly  to  Kate,  and 
dreamed  for  a  time.  What  a  home  they  could  make 
together.  She  satisfied  every  craving  of  his  pride, 
his  every  belief  in  the  true  nobility  of  womanhood. 
He  smothered  the  voice  of  reproach  under  carefully 
built  structures  of  the  future  and  as  he  stared  up  into 
the  faintly  lit  sky  he  won  a  partial  content  in  place 
of  his  restlessness.  The  moon  was  almost  hidden  be- 
hind a  gathering  of  fleecy  clouds,  and  Allison  watched 
them  move  slowly  across  the  moon's  face  into  the 
heavier  cloud-bank  beyond.  The  street  sounds  were 
quieted,  the  hush  of  midnight  had  come.  A  warm 
glow  flickered  and  danced  at  intervals  on  the  edges 
of  the  cloud-bank,  like  fire  on  snow,  or  the  trails  of 
heat-lightning  along  the  horizon,  and  Allison  watched 
it  idly.  Then  a  warmer  glow  rested  on  the  piled 

342 


Trial  by  Fire 

clouds,  turning  them  a  rosy  pink  that  darted  and 
flared  into  a  more  fiery  red,  and  Allison  rose  and 
went  to  the  window,  moved  by  a  faint  sense  of  curios- 
ity. To  his  extreme  left  the  whole  horizon  flamed  in 
a  glow  that  burned  and  flickered  and  shot  up,  reaching 
higher  and  higher.  It  was  its  reflection  that  touched 
the  clouds  above.  There  was  a  fire  somewhere  beyond 
the  Angel's  Flight.  As  Allison  stood  watching,  there 
came  from  far  away  the  hurried  clang  and  rattle  of  a 
fire-engine,  and  to  the  east  another,  smothered  by  the 
distance.  Then  the  lighted  engine-house  a  half  block 
away  sprang  into  life,  and  the  engine,  truck  and 
ladder,  and  hose  cart,  turned  into  the  street  directly 
beneath  him,  tearing  with  a  shrill  scream  and  clatter 
through  the  quiet  of  the  night.  Allison  leaned  his 
arm,  on  the  window-sill  listening.  It  must  be  some 
distance  away,  but  it  was  a  large  fire  that  would 
call  out  the  down  town  engines.  He  felt  a  vague  satis- 
faction that  he  was  not  called  upon  to  rush  with 
the  engines ;  he  realized  with  a  sort  of  surprise  that  he 
was  terribly  tired,  and  that  the  night  breeze  was  cool 
and  refreshing.  He  went  back  to  his  desk  and  lighted 
a  cigar,  and  came  again  to  the  window,  watching  the 
changing  lights  on  the  clouds.  The  glow  had  sprung 
higher  and  still  higher,  seen  redly  now  through  the 
rolling  billows  of  smoke,  and  the  play  of  colors  on  the 
clouds  was  so  marvellous  that  Allison  did  not  leave 
the  window.  He  had  watched  a  full  half  hour,  when 

343 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

suddenly  a  column  of  flame  shot  high  into  the  heavens, 
sinking  back  into  volumes  of  smoke,  the  collapse  of  a 
fiery  giant  into  a  bed  of  coals.  The  glow  was  still 
brilliant,  but  began  to  pale  at  the  edges,  and  Allison 
realized  the  lateness  of  the  hour  with  a  sense  of  chill. 
It  was  time  that  he  sought  his  apartment  and  his  bed. 

He  went  down  into  the  quiet  street,  and  found  a 
policeman  at  the  entrance  to  the  building,  his  face 
turned  up  to  the  fading  glow.  "Where  is  the  fire?" 
Allison  asked  in  passing,  though  he  was  conscious  of 
caring  very  little  where  it  was. 

"Somewhere  about  Summit  Hill,"  the  man  said. 
"It's  a  big  one." 

Allison  felt  a  touch  like  a  cold  finger  along  his 
spine,  and  he  stood  still.  An  automobile  had  spun  up 
to  within  a  yard  of  him,  and  a  young  man  sprang  out 
of  it,  almost  running  over  Allison  in  his  haste,  for  his 
head  was  turned  to  call  a  hasty  "thanks"  to  the 
chauffeur. 

"Beg  pardon!"  he  said  to  Allison,  and  Allison 
recognized  him.  He  was  a  Globe  reporter,  making  for 
the  office  two  doors  below. 

Allison  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant.  "The  fire," 
he  said  sharply,  "where  is  it?" 

"The  old  Payne  house,"  said  the  young  man, 
"and  the  hell  of  a  blaze — the  whole  rotten  thing  fell — 
two  firemen  caught,  and  two  women  burned — if  I  can 

344 


Trial  by  Fire 

only  get  it  in  in  time ! ' '  They  were  at  the  door  of  the 
Globe  office,  and  Allison  caught  the  other  by  the  arm. 

"What  two  women?"  he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"A  crippled  woman  and  a  girl — they  got  the 
old  woman  out.  .  .  .  Why,  do  you  know  them?" 
the  young  man  asked,  halted  by  Allison's  ghastly  look; 
but  Allison  had  turned  after  the  departing  automobile 
and  the  young  man  saw  him  dash  into  the  street  and 
reach  its  step  as  it  whirled  around  the  corner. 


XVIII. 

ONLY  KATE  CAN  TELL  YOU 

"MRS.  SILENCE!  I  am  very  fortunate!"  Aunt 
Silence  turned  quickly  to  receive  a  hand  clasp  that 
had  all  the  warmth  of  extreme  pleasure.  Horton 
Payne  stood  before  her,  hat  in  hand,  the  smile  that 
bared  his  big  white  teeth  expressive  of  real  delight. 
Aunt  Silence  had  just  come  out  of  the  Alexandria 
and  had  paused  for  a  doubtful  moment  on  the  side- 
walk, her  eyes  raised  to  thfc  heavily  overcast  sky.  It 
was  a  rare  day  for  August,  a  sudden  break  in  the 
continued  warm  dry  breath  from  the  desert.  One 
smelt  the  ocean  in  the  air,  and  the  clouds  were  heavy 
enough  for  rain. 

"So  you  are  back  at  last!"  Aunt  Silence  ex- 
claimed. "Have  you  come  from  your  ranch?"  If 
Horton  wore  a  look  of  joy,  so  also  did  Aunt  Silence. 

"I  reached  my  ranch  last  night,  and  took  the 
first  train  this  morning  to  Los  Angeles,"  Horton  ex- 
plained. "I  went  out  at  once  to  your  house  to  see 
you,  and  Hop  sent  me  back  again  to  find  you  here  at 
the  Alexandria.  He  said  you  were  down  town  for  a 
day  of  shopping,  and  that  you  usually  came  here  for 
lunch — there  was  the  chance  of  finding  you.  I  am 
lucky  to  have  caught  you." 

346 


Only  Kate  Can  Tell  You 

"Dear  me!"  Aunt  Silence  said,  the  irrepressible 
corner  of  her  mouth  lifting.  "I  suppose  I  haven't 
told  you  that  I  am  particularly  glad  to  see  you.  Of 
course  you  received  my  letter  and  its  enclosure?" 

"Yes — and  Mrs.  Silence,  come  somewhere  where 
we  can  talk,  please.  Have  you  had  lunch?"  Horton 
was  still  holding  Aunt  Silence's  hand,  as  if  fearful 
of  losing  her. 

"I  was  just  going  to  lunch  with  some  friends — 
but  it  really  looks  like  rain " 

"It  is  going  to  pour, ' '  Horton  declared,  promptly, 
and  without  so  much  as  glancing  at  the  sky.  "It  is 
an  engagement  you  can  break,  Mrs.  Silence?" 

"It  is  one  I  suppose  I  shall  break,"  Aunt  Silence 
said,  laughing  a  little. 

' '  And  lunch  with  me,  please  ?  Here  at  the  hotel  ? ' ' 
Horton  was  eager. 

"It  is  very  early,"  Aunt  Silence  objected,  looking 
really  happy.  The  last  few  weeks  had  been  as  thor- 
oughly unsatisfactory  a  period  as  Mrs.  Silence  had 
ever  spent.  The  troubled  lift  of  her  brows  had  be- 
come an  almost  constant  expression,  the  upward  twitch 
of  her  mouth  exceedingly  rare.  The  sight  of  Horton 
pleased  her  greatly. 

"So  much  the  better,  Mrs.  Silence,"  Horton  said. 
"We  shall  have  the  longer  time  to  talk.  Shall  we  go 
in  now?"  Aunt  Silence  made  no  further  objection, 
and  turned  back  into  the  hotel  with  Horton.  He  led 

347 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

the  way  into  the  dining  room,  choosing  a  table  a  little 
apart  from  the  others.  It  was  so  early  that  they  were 
almost  alone  in  the  large  room. 

"Now,"  Horton  exclaimed,  "this  is  good!"  A 
waiter  stood  expectant  of  their  order,  but  Horton 
waved  him  off.  "Just  bring  us — anything!"  he  ex- 
claimed, impatiently.  "And  you  don't  need  to  hurry 
the  order — "  then  mindful  of  Mrs.  Silence's  amused 
glance,  he  recovered  his  usual  politeness.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mrs.  Silence,"  he  said,  coloring,  "I  was 
not  thinking  about  things  to  eat — what  shall  I  order 
for  you?" 

Aunt  Silence  looked  at  his  flushed  face  and  eager 
eyes  with  an  expression  that  held  a  good  deal  of 
affection.  "That  order  will  satisfy  me,"  she  assured 
him.  "We  will  let  you  choose  for  us,"  she  said  to  the 
waiter,  "and  you  can  bring  it  to  us  a  little  later." 

"Thank  you,"  Horton  said,  gratefully.  "That 
was  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  him.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Silence, 
it  is  very  good  to  see  you  again!" 

"Is  that  the  reason  for  all  this  excitement?"  Aunt 
Silence  asked. 

Horton  flushed  even  more  warmly.  "Mrs.  Silence, 
where  is  Kate?"  he  demanded. 

She  smiled  at  him  understandingly,  a  glance 
touched  with  gravity.  "She  has  gone  away,"  she 
said.  "She  has  gone  to  Europe." 

"To  Europe!"  Horton  exclaimed,  his  face  fall- 

348 


Only  Kate  Can  TeU  You 

ing.  "You  did  not  tell  me  that  in  your  letter,  but  I 
understand  now.  Your  letter  and  the  news  it  con- 
tained was  six  weeks  old.  They  had  held  it  for  me  at 
the  ranch,  for  I  was  expected  any  day.  If  I  had  only 
known  I  should  have  hurried  more  over  my  return, 
but  at  that  time  there  seemed  no  particular  object  in 
haste — I  was  as  well  off  in  one  place  as  another. 
Your  news  astounded  me;  I  was  dazed  by  it,  and  I 
came  straight  to  you."  Horton's  face  had  settled 
into  gravity  and  Aunt  Silence  also  looked  thoughtful. 

"It  has  been  a  year  of  surprises,"  she  said.  "It 
is  a  year  and  a  month  since  you  left,  and  it  has  been 
crowded  full."  Aunt  Silence  watched  Horton 
thoughtfully  as  she  asked,  "Did  James  Payne  return 
with  you?" 

Horton  looked  up  quickly.  "No,"  he  said, 
"James  is  in  Australia  and  will  remain  there."  His 
look  hardened,  his  voice  grown  cold.  "You  once  told 
me,  Mrs.  Silence,  that  it  was  best  to  keep  family  affairs 
in  the  family,  but  you  are  a  connection  of  mine  now, 
and  you  may  as  well  know  the  truth.  James  has  in- 
curred the  displeasure  of  the  government,  and  will  be 
looked  after  by  them  for  some  time  to  come.  He  has 
always  had  an  irresistible  inclination  for  crooked  deal- 
ing, but  when  I  took  him  out  to  Australia  I  gave  him 
a  chance.  It  was  no  use.  In  six  months  time  he 
was  in  trouble,  for  I  had  taken  pains  to  have  him  so 
carefully  watched  that  he  found  it  impossible  to 

349 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

escape.  I  had  had  a  faint  hope  that  he  might  walk 
straight,  but  his  disease  is  too  deep  seated. ' ' 

"I  am  sorry  I  asked  about  him,"  Aunt  Silence 
said,  distressed,  "I  was  thinking  of  Paquita.  Kate 
told  me  how  he  had  neglected  Paquita  as  a  child,  and 
I  hoped  that  he  had  not  returned." 

"I  have  told  you,"  Horton  said,  "and  I  know  the 
knowledge  is  safe  with  you.  Next  to  Kate  there  is  no 
one  to  whom  I  feel  I  can  speak  so  freely  as  to  you. 
James's  career  has  reached  the  conclusion  that  I 
feared  was  inevitable,  and  I  wanted  him  as  far  away 
as  possible  when  it  should  occur.  The  life  of  a  con- 
vict will  not  be  to  James's  taste,  but  as  he  has  sown 
he  will  have  to  reap.  He  is  safe  where  he  is — his 
day  is  over — let  us  not  think  about  him,  .  .  .  but 
Aunt  Silence,"  and  Horton 's  smile  was  appealing 
now,  "won't  you  tell  me  what  has  happened,  and 
just  a  little  about  Kate?  You  said  almost  nothing 
about  her  in  your  letter." 

"There  was  so  little  for  me  to  say — so  little  I  could 
write,"  Aunt  Silence  answered. 

"When  did  she  go?"  Horton  asked. 

"She  left  two  weeks  ago,"  Aunt  Silence  replied. 
"She  said  nothing  to  me  of  her  plans  until  the  very 
last,  but  I  think  she  had  decided  long  before  that  she 
would  go,  and  she  appeared  quite  determined  to  go 
alone — and — and  of  course  I  felt  that  she  knew 

best "  There  was  a  quiver  now  in  Aunt  Silence's 

voice  that  she  resolutely  suppressed. 

350 


Only  Kate  Can  TeU  You 

"You  mean  she  went  entirely  alone,  no  one  with 
her  whom  she  knew?" 

"Not  a  soul,"  Aunt  Silence  said.  "It  was  hard 
for  her  to  tell  me  that  she  wanted  to  go  alone,  for 
she  didn  't  want  to  hurt  me,  but  at  last  she  did.  She 
was  loving  to  me — Kate  has  always  been  loving  to  me, 
but  she  told  me  at  last  how  she  felt.  She  said  she 
longed  to  get  away  for  a  time  from  every  association  of 
these  last  sixteen  years.  That  she  wanted  to  go  back 
to  the  places  she  had  visited  when  she  was  a  child. 
She  said  the  longing  had  grown  in  her  until  it  was 
beyond  her  control.  She  wanted  to  satisfy  it,  and 
then  come  back  to  me — she  said — that  Paquita  would 
not  need  her  any  more,  and — and  she  would  come  back 
to  me — she  promised  that — but  she  would  go  alone. 
Of  course, ' '  Aunt  Silence  said,  her  voice  quite  beyond 
her  control  now,  "she  was  right  to  go  if  she  felt  she 
must,  but — but — I  have  no  child — Horton — and  I 

can't  help  loving  Kate "  Aunt  Silence  stopped 

and  impatiently  jerked  her  handkerchief  from  her 
sleeve.  "I  am  just  an  old  goose!" — she  declared,  in 
smothered  tones  from  behind  its  folds, — "just  a  fool- 
ish old  woman ! ' '  Horton 's  lips  twitched,  and  leaning 
over  he  took  the  hand  that  did  not  hold  the  handker- 
chief and  clasped  it  tightly.  Aunt  Silence  continued 
after  a  moment.  "As  I  remarked  before,  I  am  an  old 
goose,"  she  declared  with  emphasis,  "but — but  I 
haven't  enjoyed  the  last  year."  She  took  her  hand 

351 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

from  Horton's  and  sat  up  straight  with  an  air  of 
determination.  "I  don't  know  when  I  have  behaved 
like  this — I  am  ashamed." 

Horton  smiled  at  her  rather  sadly,  the  network 
of  lines  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes  more  apparent. 
"I  know,  Aunt  Silence,"  he  said,  "but  we  are  better 
off  loving  than  unloving. ' ' 

"And  here  I  sit  snuffling,"  Aunt  Silence  ex- 
claimed, indignantly,  "when  I  ought  to  be  telling  you 
just  what  has  happened!  .  .  .  They  wrote  to  you 
about  the  burning  of  the  Payne  house,  of  course?" 

"My  agent  wrote  me,"  Horton  said.  "He  laid 
the  blame  on  the  old  Mexican  woman,  and  her  kitchen 
fire,  but  I  fancy  the  chimney  was  a  sieve.  I  should 
never  have  consented  to  that  crippled  woman's  re- 
maining there,  only  she  begged  so  hard  to  be  allowed 
to  stay — poor  wretch!" 

Aunt  Silence  shuddered  slightly.  "Matters  moved 
quickly  for  us  after  that,"  she  said.  "The  morning 
after  the  fire  I  had  my  luncheon  alone,  for  Paquita 
had  not  been  well  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  Kate 
who  looked  ill  enough  herself  was  with  her  constantly. 
Hop  brought  me  the  Los  Angeles  paper,  and  the  ac- 
count of  the  fire — two  columns  of  horrors — stared  at 
me  from  the  front  page.  It  was  graphic  enough,  all 
of  it,  to  turn  one  ill,  and  Paquita  was  declared  to  be 
one  of  the  victims.  As  I  read  I  understood  how 
naturally  the  mistake  had  come  about,  but  I  must  tell 

352 


Only  Kate  Can  Tell  You 

Kate  at  once.  I  took  the  paper  to  her  in  her  room, 
and  waited  until  she  had  finished  reading.  She 
stood  some  time  afterwards  thinking  deeply,  and  then 
she  said,  'I  must  correct  the  mistake  about  Paquita 
as  soon  as  possible.  It  is  too  late  for  the  evening 
papers. ' 

"  'You  won't  say  much  will  you,  Kate?'  I  asked. 

"  'Only  that  Paquita  has  been  staying  here  with 
friends,  and  the  report  a  mistake — nothing  more.' 

"  'You  will  have  to  give  your  name,'  I  said.  'We 
will  be  besieged  by  reporters.' 

"  'Yes,  of  course,'  she  said,  'but  I  am  not  afraid 
of  them.'  She  went  then  and  talked  with  Paquita, 
and  afterwards  telephoned  her  message  to  Los  Angeles. 
It  was  published  the  next  morning  in  the  papers,  and 
in  due  time  a  reporter  appeared  on  our  porch,  but 
some  one  else  came  before  he  did.  Kate  had  looked 
very  white  all  morning  and  her  eyes  bright,  but  she 
had  walked  down  to  the  beach  with  Paquita,  who  was 
able  to  be  up  again,  and  it  struck  me  that  they  were 
both  waiting  for  something.  Paquita  seemed  to  cling 
to  Kate  with  a  sort  of  helplessness  I  had  never  seen 
!n  her  before.  We  sat  together  on  the  porch  most  of 
the  morning,  Paquita  on  a  stool  at  Kate's  knee,  and 
when  the  sound  of  wheels  came,  Kate  touched  her  and 
she  laid  her  cheek  for  a  moment  against  Kate's  hand, 
then  rose  and  went  to  her  room.  Some  one  came 
round  the  house  and  up  on  the  porch,  and  I  was  sur- 

23  353 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

prised  enough  to  see  Richard  Allison,  but  when  I 
looked  at  Kate  I  saw  that  she  was  neither  surprised 
nor  startled.  Richard  went  straight  to  Kate,  passing 
me  with  as  much  recognition  as  he  showed  to  the  stone 
pillar  of  the  porch.  He  looked  ghastly,  like  a  man 
who  had  been  driven  and  not  allowed  to  sleep  for  days. 
Kate  had  risen  and  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  her 
manner  perfectly  calm. 

"  'Where  is  she?'  he  asked,  in  a  voice  I  had  never 
heard  from  my  nephew  before. 

"  'Here,  safe  with  me,'  Kate  said. 

"'Thank  God!'  he  said.  'I  have  been  through 

hell — Kate '  She  glanced  from  him  to  me,  but  I 

was  already  at  the  hall  door.  These  were  things  I 
did  not  understand,  and  they  were  not  meant  for  my 
hearing.  My  nephew  talked  a  long  time  with  Kate, 
while  I  sat  in  my  room,  and  Paquita  remained  shut 
up  in  hers.  Then  I  heard  Kate  go  to  Paquita 's  door, 
and  there  was  the  murmur  of  their  voices,  but  pres- 
ently Kate  came  out  and  went  to  her  own  room.  Pa- 
quita's  step  was  so  light  I  scarcely  heard  it,  but  I  knew 
she  had  come  into  the  hall  and  then  I  heard  Richard's 
exclamation. 

"I  had  pieced  together  something  of  a  history  by 
that  time,"  Aunt  Silence  said,  "and  when  evening 
came,  and  Richard  had  gone  on  his  way  again,  Kate 
talked  a  little  to  me,  only  a  little,  for  that  is  like 
Kate,  but  she  told  me  of  my  nephew's  long  acquaint- 

354 


Only  Kate  Can  Tell  You 

ance  with  Paquita  as  a  child  and  the  pitiful,  neglected 
life  the  girl  had  had.  She  spoke  of  his  love  for 
Paquita.  'It  sometimes  takes  a  fearful  experience 
such  as  Richard  has  been  through  during  the  last 
few  days/  Kate  said,  'to  teach  a  man  to  understand 
himself,  and  Richard  knows  now  who  it  is  he  loves. 
He  has  asked  Paquita  to  marry  him,  but  she  will  give 
him  no  promise,  and  I  think  she  is  right.  I  want  her 
to  see  something  of  people,  and  learn  what  life  with  a 
man  of  Richard's  ambitions  will  mean.  She  is  won- 
derfully adaptable,  and  quick  to  understand,  and  I 
know  that  she  really  loves  him.  That  will  help  her 
more  than  anything  else,  but  I  mean  when  she  does 
go  to  your  nephew, '  Kate  said,  in  her  quiet,  final  way, 
'that  he  shall  be  very  proud  of  her,  and  I  intend  that 
she  shall  not  go  empty-handed.' 

"You  may  ask  me,"  Aunt  Silence  said,  after  a 
pause,  "if  I  had  anything  to  say  to  all  this — objec- 
tions to  make,  or  suggestions  to  offer,  or  questions  to 
ask.  I  had  been  far  more  astounded  than  I  was  when 
Kate  had  told  me  she  had  adopted  Paquita,  but  I  had 
not  one  word  to  say  except  in  the  way  of  acquiescence, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  I  loved  Kate  so  very  much. 
All  the  while  she  talked  to  me ;  when  she  outlined  what 
she  wished  to  do  for  Paquita — and  I  knew  she  would 
do  all  she  said — her  whole  attitude  implored  me  not 
to  question  her  or  object,  only  to  help  her  if  possible. 
The  things  I  thought  of  my  nephew  and  of  Paquita, 

355 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

I  kept  strictly  to  myself."  Horton  was  leaning  on 
the  table,  drinking  in  Mrs.  Silence 's  words,  but  he  did 
not  interrupt,  and  she  continued.  "Kate  closed  her 
house  in  Moneta  and  put  Underwood  in  charge  of  the 
place.  "We  came  down  here  to  Los  Angeles  and  for 
many  months  I  watched  a  campaign,  the  generalship 
of  which  was  marvellous.  I  have  seen  women  accom- 
plish wonderful  things  socially,  I  have  seen  them 
bring  out  a  daughter,  and  engineer  her  into  a  safe 
harbor  with  the  greatest  skill,  but  I  never  have  seen 
anything  like  Kate's  triumph.  There  was  a  touch 
of  the  unusual  in  her  relation  to  Paquita  that 
caused  general  interest.  Paquita 's  relationship  to  the 
Paynes,  and  her  Spanish  ancestry,  were  not  too  unduly 
emphasized,  only  enough  to  give  a  touch  of  romance, 
and  it  was  an  open  secret  that  Kate  was  so  thoroughly 
interested  in  the  girl  that  she  intended  to  make  her 
independent.  An  assurance  of  that  kind  from  a  wo- 
man of  Kate's  character  and  wealth,  means  a  great 
deal,  and  Paquita  was  given  her  chance. 

"If  I  wondered  at  Kate,  I  wondered  at  Paquita 
quite  as  much.  I  don't  love  Paquita,  but  I  have 
learned  to  respect  her.  I  confess  it  in  spite  of  myself. 
I  have  never  known  any  human  being  that  proved  as 
quick  to  learn  as  that  girl.  She  needed  only  a  look, 
or  a  word,  rarely  that,  her  own  observation  was  suf- 
ficient. She  kept  her  eyes  on  Kate  and  those  about 
her,  and  in  her  strange  sleepy-eyed  way  she  was  really 

356 


Only  Kate  Can  Tell  You 

fascinating.  She  had  an  abundance  of  attention,  some 
of  it  serious  enough,  but  her  crowning  success  was 
with  my  nephew.  I  have  seen  her  grow  white  when  he 
entered  the  room,  and  I  think  her  love  was  almost  a 
possession,  but  for  months  he  didn't  know  where  he 
stood,  for  she  held  herself  aloof.  For  once  in  his  life 
Richard  was  driven  to  forget  his  self-absorption  and 
his  ambitions.  He  was  a  plain,  selfish,  determined, 
thoroughly  humble,  and  not  particularly  admirable 
man,  desperately  in  love  with  a  girl  almost  young 
enough  to  be  his  daughter.  His  limitations  were  ap- 
parent enough,  any  one  who  had  eyes  could  see  them, 
and  I  often  wondered  what  Kate  thought  of  this  new 
Richard  Allison." 

"  And  he— Mr.  Allison?" 

Mrs.  Silence  gave  Horton  a  quick  glance. 
"Richard  respects  and  admires  Kate — he  has  always 
done  that — and  I  think  never  more  than  after  his 
talk  with  her  when  he  came  to  her  for  Paquita.  If 
there  is  a  woman  whom  Richard  reveres  and  does  not 
understand,  it  is  Kate — but  he  loves  Paquita.  .  .  . 
He  and  Paquita  were  married  at  my  house  six  weeks 
ago  as  you  saw  by  the  announcement  I  sent  you. 
After  that  was  over  Kate  and  I  went  up  to  Moneta, 
and  it  was  there  she  told  me  of  her  intention  to  go 
away." 

Horton  was  silent,  for  a  time,  looking  down.  "I 
understood  a  good  deal  from  your  letter,  I  thought 

357 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

it  out  in  the  night,  and  I  understood  why  the  an- 
nouncement spoke  of  Paquita  as  the  daughter  of 
James  Payne  and  Julietta  Overa — that  and  some  other 

things  are  plain  to  me — but "    He  stopped  and 

was  silent  again. 

Mrs.  Silence  studied  his  face  thoughtfully.  "I 
understand  exactly  what  it  is  you  would  like  to  know," 
she  said,  finally,  "but  I  cannot  tell  you  for  I  do  not 
know  myself."  Mrs.  Silence's  look  was  very  earnest 
as  she  leaned  forward,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap. 
"For  weeks  I  worked  with  Kate  trying  to  make  a 
place  for  Paquita  that  would  be  useful  to  her  in  the 
future-,  we  created  a  social  background  for  Richard's 
wife.  In  all  that  time  Kate  said  not  one  word  to  me 
of  herself  or  her  feelings,  not  a  word  more  than  she 
did  when  she  outlined  to  me  in  the  beginning  the 
things  she  wished  to  do  for  Paquita.  The  manner 
in  which  she  effaced  herself,  and  put  forward  a 
younger  woman,  using  herself  as  a  foil  for  Paquita 's 
peculiar  attractions,  had  all  the  subtlety  of  genius — it 
was  wonderful!  All  that  Kate  did  was  quiet,  quick, 
and  effective — no  fuss,  no  affectation.  She  decided 
on  what  she  would  do,  and  carried  it  through.  I  be- 
lieve that  Paquita 's  course  of  conduct  towards  my 
nephew  throughout  the  last  year  was  the  result  of 
Kate's  advice.  I  think  she  stood  at  Paquita 's  elbow 
at  every  turn;  I  am  certain  of  it.  Just  how  are  you 
to  judge  of  a  woman  who  has  such  power  of  will? 

358 


Only  Kate  Can  Tell  You 

How  can  I  tell  you  what  it  is  she  has  been  thinking 
all  this  long  year?  I  can't  tell  you  what  you  are 
longing  to  know — nobody  can — it  is  only  Kate  herself 
can  do  that." 

Horton  looked  steadily  into  Mrs.  Silence's  earnest 
eyes.  "Mrs.  Silence,"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice,  "is 
Kate  happy  ? ' ' 

Aunt  Silence  moved  restlessly  and  the  color  rose 
in  her  cheeks.  "No,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "she  is  not. 
Kate's  thoughts  and  feelings  are  too  carefully  hidden 
for  any  acuteness  of  mine  to  discover,  but  I  have  tried 
to  guess  a  few  things,  and  I  think  Kate  is  so  lonely 
that  she  is  ill.  It  is  not  the  sort  of  void  an  old 
woman  like  me  can  fill.  It's  that — that — has  hurt 
me — not  that  Kate  would  not  let  me  go  with  her — 
nothing  could  persuade  me  that  Kate  does  not  love 
me,  but — but  for  her  to  go  off  alone  and — and  un- 
happy, it's  that '  Aunt  Silence  stopped,  unable 

to  continue. 

Horton  looked  down,  and  neither  spoke  for  a  time, 
then  he  said  quietly,  "You  know,  of  course,  that  I 
mean  to  follow  her.  Where  was  she  going  first?" 

"To  Antwerp — her  boat  leaves  on  the  tenth." 

Horton  raised  his  head  with  a  jerk.  "The  tenth! 
you  mean  she  has  not  sailed  yet?  You  said  she  had 

gone  to  Europe "  The  light  began  to  grow  in  his 

eyes. 

"Yes,  but  she  couldn't  get  her  boat  before  the 
tenth,  and  I  meant "  Aunt  Silence  began. 

359 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

' ' Oh,  but  Aunt  Silence!' '  Horton  cried.  ' ' This  is 
the  fifth!"  He  had  half  risen  in  his  excitement — 

"And  don't  you  see — if  I  can  get  the  limited " 

He  stood  up,  tugging  at  his  watch,  his  eyes  alight 
now, — "I  can  have  a  whole  week — with  her — on  the 
boat — she  can't  run  away  from  me  there — and  I  have 

only  a  few  minutes  to  make  it  in "  He  had 

reached  Aunt  Silence's  side  at  a  stride,  and  taking 
her  hand  kissed  it.  "Don't  you  see,"  he  cried,  "I 
shall  have  to  run  for  it ! " 

Aunt  Silence  stared  for  full  five  minutes  at  the 
doors  that  had  swung  to  behind  Horton 's  tall  figure, 
then  grown  mindful  of  her  surroundings,  she  turned 
and  surveyed  the  room.  There  were  more  people 
about  now,  but  her  only  immediate  neighbor  was  an 
apoplectic  looking  old  gentleman,  who  was  gazing 
upon  her  in  open-mouthed  astonishment.  Aunt  Si- 
lence's steady  attention  quickly  reduced  him  to  a  red 
and  uncomfortable  consideration  of  his  plate,  and  she 
turned  then  and  looked  down  very  thoughtfully  at 
the  hand  that  had  received  Horton 's  caress.  "Dear 

me "  she  said  with  a  gasp.  "Dear  me — what  a 

man!  .  Kate,  Kate!" 


XIX. 

IT  LAY  IN  A  LOOK 

HORTON  had  come  up  on  deck  to  meet  a  glare  of 
sunlight,  and  as  he  walked  slowly  forward,  he  drew 
his  steamer-cap  well  down  over  his  eyes.  He  had 
lived  through  the  last  five  days  in  a  fever  of  appre- 
hension lest  the  precious  hours  of  margin  allowed  him 
for  catching  Kate's  boat  should  be  curtailed  by  some 
highly  probable  delay.  But  his  train  had  made  its 
clanging  entrance  into  New  York  on  time.  He  had 
telegraphed  ahead  for  a  berth,  but  remained  very 
doubtful  of  success;  he  was  quite  prepared  to  em- 
bark in  the  steerage,  if  good  fortune  would  only  give 
him  the  opportunity.  When  at  the  steamer  office  he 
had  become  the  unexpected  possessor  of  a  first  cabin, 
ticket,'  and  shortly  afterwards  found  himself  walking 
up  the  familiar  incline  to  his  floating  hotel,  he  had 
uttered  a  profound  exclamation  of  thankfulness. 
Never  before  had  he  smelled  the  combined  odors  of 
sea-water,  white  paint,  and  burnished  brass  with  a 
sensation  of  more  perfect  content.  Could  his  good 
fortune  forsake  him  when  it  had  brought  him  so  far? 

Twice  during  the  afternoon. he  had  seen  a  figure 
clad  in  dark  blue  that  he  had  instantly  recognized,  but 
he  had  carefully  kept  his  distance  and  contented  him- 

361 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

self  with  securing  a  place  beside  hers  at  the  table, 
and  sending  to  her  stateroom  a  box  of  flowers  that 
had  made  even  the  stewardess  exclaim  in  surprise. 
He  had  endeavored  to  quiet  his  restlessness  on  the 
long  hot  journey  by  mentally  arranging  that  box  of 
flowers,  and  wording  a  telegram  that  delighted  a  New 
York  florist.  If  he  himself  missed  the  boat,  his  flowers 
would  be  with  her;  the  idea  had  pleased  him. 

The  last  faint  line  of  land  showed  on  the  horizon 
in  their  wake,  and  the  immensity  of  open  ocean  lay 
before  them,  its  surface  fretted  by  the  stiff  breeze, 
and  touched  by  the  sun  into  myriads  of  sparkling 
facets.  It  was  not  two  weeks  since  Horton  had  looked 
upon  the  same  scene,  but  he  was  not  thinking  of  that 
as  he  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  deck.  His  eyes 
were  on  two  deck-chairs  that  were  drawn  apart  from 
the  others,  and  almost  concealed  behind  the  column  of 
a  ventilator.  Earlier  in  the  afternoon  he  had 
searched  about  until  he  had  found  a  chair  that  bore 
the  label  for  which  he  was  looking.  With  the  audac- 
ity that  had  characterized  every  act  of  his  since  the 
night  he  had  pondered  over  Mrs.  Silence's  letter,  he 
had  fetched  his  own  chair,  and  set  the  two  side  by 
side  in  that  sheltered  spot  of  his  own  choice. 

The  excitement  of  the  first  hours  on  board  ship  had 
subsided  into  the  quiet  that  always  follows ;  a  realiza- 
tion of  open  ocean  and  a  six  days'  continuous  contem- 
plation of  it.  The  deck  was  deserted  save  for  an 

362 


It  Lay  in  a  Look 

occasional  stroller,  and  those  who  sought  a  nap  in 
their  deck  chairs.  Horton  had  waited  for  just  this 
hour,  and  had  told  himself  that  when  it  came  he 
would  go  straight  to  the  muffled  figure  that  was  half 
hidden  behind  the  white  column,  but  instead  he 
walked  near  and  then  away  again  many  times,  slowly 
and  uncertainly.  When  he  passed  beyond  that 
column  and  sat  down  beside  her,  and  she  lifted  her 
veil  and  looked  at  him,  would  it  be  the  look  of  his 
dreams  she  would  give  him,  or  the  startled  and  un- 
willing glance  of  his  remembrance.  That  one  moment 
would  tell  the  meaning  of  the  future.  He  had  been 
able  during  that  long  journey  to  govern  his  thoughts, 
he  had  done  so  by  sheer  force  of  will,  but  he  had  no 
control  over  his  dreams.  In  them  his  fancy  had 
roamed  as  it  would,  and  created  its  own  visions.  It 
led  him  always  to  her  side,  hurrying  and  eager, 
trembling  in  suspense,  rushing  through  space  to  reach 
her,  and  when  he  looked  into  her  eyes  it  was  a  wel- 
come that  he  read  there,  a  joy  that  leapt  into  life  on 
the  instant.  It  had  swept  him  along  in  ecstacy, 
flooding  him  with  joy.  He  floated  in  an  ocean  of  con- 
tent. The  visions  that  had  followed  were  fragmen- 
tary, disjointed,  but  each  a  separate  delight.  He 
stood  in  the  glaring  sunshine  of  mid-day,  with  a  world 
of  water  about  him,  but  he  was  no  longer  alone,  for  he 
turned  a  little  and  she  was  at  his  side,  satisfied  to  have 
him  watch  over  her.  .  .  .  They  stood  at  night  at  a 

363 


The  Heart  of  Desire 

latticed  casement  and  looked  down  together  upon  a 
throng  that  hurried  by,  chattering  in  an  unfamiliar 
tongue,  and  he  had  drawn  her  into  his  arms  and  held 
her  until  the  touch  of  her  was  warm  against  his  side. 
The  visions  came  and  went,  made  vivid  always  by  the 
ecstacy  of  love  undenied.  His  six  feverish  days  of 
hope  and  the  nights  of  dreams  were  passed,  and  he 
stood  at  last  with  hand  raised  to  knock  on  the  door 
of  happiness.  Would  it  open  to  him,  or  must  he  turn 
away?  The  chill  of  fear  had  fallen  upon  him  and 
a  cold  hand  crept  about  his  heart.  He  had  stepped 
from  the  sunlight  into  the  shadow  of  the  awning  that 
protected  the  row  of  steamer-chairs,  each  with  its 
muffled  form,  and  he  stood  still,  overwhelmed  suddenly 
by  a  sense  of  utter  unreality.  Urged  by  fear,  he  must 
go  on  to  the  muffled  figure  in  its  chair  and  have  it  sink 
to  nothing  under  the  touch  of  his  hand.  It  was  the 
dream  of  years  ago,  the  impression  of  a  moment  before 
waking,  flashed  again  into  vivid  consciousness  by  the 
glare  of  sunlight  on  white,  the  chill  touch  of  shadow, 
and  the  whirr  of  the  wind  against  his  cheek.  He  had 
dreamed  that  ugly  dream  again,  standing,  a  trick  of 
nerves  too  long  held  at  tension.  Horton  drew  himself 
together  with  a  gasp,  and  the  sense  of  fear  slowly 
slipped  from  him.  The  cold  weight  lifted  from  his 
heart,  and  going  on  he  passed  round  the  column  to 
Kate's  side. 

Her  head  was  turned  so  that  he  could  see  only 
364 


It  Lay  in  a  Look 

her  profile  beneath  her  veil.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
disturb  her,  but  seated  himself  quietly  in  his  chair, 
leaning  forward  a  little.  He  saw  now  that  her  eyes 
were  closed,  and  he  sat  a  long  time  waiting.  Her  un- 
gloved hand  held  the  rough  steamer-rug  from  her 
cheek,  and  Horton  looked  at  the  slender  fingers,  pink 
at  the  tips,  and  at  a  strand  of  her  hair  that  had 
slipped  from  under  her  veil  and  rested  a  bit  of  golden 
brown  on  the  dark  rug.  He  sat  motionless,  drinking 
in  the  delight  of  her  nearness.  Courage  rose  strong 
in  him,  and  a  confidence  that  clasped  hands  with 
determination. 

Kate  had  opened  her  eyes  now,  and  lay  looking  at 
the  gleaming  stretch  of  water,  as  it  rushed  toward 
her,  and  was  hidden  again  by  the  regular  lift  and  fall 
of  the  vessel.  A  gull  flew  close,  a  flash  of  white, 
dipping  to  the  crest  of  a  wave,  and  then  the  heave 
of  the  boat  hid  it  also  from  view.  She  sighed  as  she 
drew  the  rug  down  from  her  cheek,  and  raising  her- 
self, sat  upright.  Conscious  then  of  some  near  pres- 
ence, she  turned.  Horton  neither  moved  nor  spoke, 
but  a  man  may  kneel  and  draw  a  woman's  hand  to 
his  lips  without  need  of  word  or  motion,  if  the  woman 
look  deep  enough  into  his  eyes.  Kate  sat  quite  still, 
her  eyes  on  his,  till  the  slowly  rising  blood  dyed  her 
scarlet  from  brow  to  chin,  but  it  crossed  her  face  for 
one  instant  before  it  lost  itself  in  amazement,  the  look 
of  Horton 's  dreams,  a  swift  gleam  of  joy,  intense, 
vivid,  unmistakable. 

365 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DISCHARGE-URL 

SEP  2  4  1979 

OCT  1 9 1978 


PSD  2338  9/77 


3  1158  00377  6 


18 


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A     000052412     4 


